drink to excess, and held little regard for those who did. They were invariably foolish or stupid, to his mind. In his experience only those who had lived through a severe shock or those who were weak in spirit would resort to drinking excessively. Elias looked a rather pathetic creature, the kind to crumble at the first blow of fate. His face was skinny and freckled, under an unruly mop of reddish-brown hair. The thin nose and close-set eyes made him appear shifty, and fleshy pink lips gave him an unwholesome appearance as if he was suffering from a disease.
“Where were you last night, Elias?” Baldwin asked.
“Why? Who are you?” he demanded, glancing at Peter as the monk spread paper and began to write.
“I am Baldwin Furnshill, Keeper of the King’s Peace in Crediton, and this is Simon Puttock, bailiff of Lydford Castle. The Abbot has asked us to investigate a murder. Where were you last night?”
“I was here.”
“Where were you before that, Elias?”
“It took ages to get all this ready.”
“I see. Let me tell you where you were, then. You were at the tavern near your shop, weren’t you?”
“If you know, why ask?”
Simon grated, “Elias, we’re working for the Abbot, trying to get to the bottom of a killing.”
He sulkily looked from one to the other. “All right,” he said ungraciously. “I was at the tavern.”
“That’s better. Who else was there?” said Baldwin.
Elias winced as a sharp pain stabbed at his temple. He sat on his barrel and screwed his eyes into slits as he stared up at the Keeper. “It was the start of the fair – there was loads in there.”
“Whom did you recognize, Elias?” Baldwin asked less gently.
“Several of them: the port-reeve himself was there later. Four watchmen from Denbury were all sitting at a table; the one who came for David just now was one of them. Torre, from Ashburton way, he was there, and a merchant with his wife and daughter. Oh, and three men with a monk guiding them, though they didn’t stay. I’d never seen them before.”
“What did they look like?” Baldwin asked.
He shrugged. All visiting merchants looked the same to him. He began repositioning some of his pies and meats. “They were here – you only just missed them. I reckon they’re father and son. They look sort of similar.”
“The man you were sitting with,” Baldwin said, watching the cook’s face closely. “Who was he?”
“Sorry?”
There was a note of uncertainty in his voice that caught Baldwin’s interest. “In the tavern you were sitting with a man for a goodly time. You had many drinks with him. Later you left the tavern with him. Who was he?”
“No one… It was just someone who came up to me and wanted to talk.”
“You left the tavern together, so where did you go?” Simon pressed.
“We didn’t go anywhere. He happened to leave the place just as I was going out to the privy, that’s all.”
Baldwin stared at him, and Elias’ eyes dropped. “He is dead. Murdered.”
The cook dropped a pie. He stared at the knight with his mouth open in shock. “No! He… he can’t be!”
Simon watched him, puzzled. Elias had not been surprised to hear that there had been a murder, but his shock on hearing about his companion was surely unfeigned.
“You spent the evening with a man in a red leather jerkin, and left the tavern with him. And now we find a man in a red leather jerkin has been murdered and hidden in your rubbish. So who was he?”
Elias retreated under the blast of the knight’s sudden bellow. “Sir, I…” Elias shivered. This questioning was confusing him, and he regretted the ales he had drunk the night before. The two men standing so aggressively before him, the one dark and angry, the scar on his cheek shining, the younger one, the bailiff, a sinister grin on his face as he watched Elias squirm, both made him fear for his freedom.
But he had no idea how to escape from them. He felt like a rabbit caught in a snare: he could try to pull away, but only at the risk of harming Jordan. Yet if he were to stay silent without an attempt at protecting himself, he might get arrested.
It was obvious that someone would have seen him leaving, but how could he have known that the body would be so quickly discovered, and that he would be linked to Jordan so easily? He shook his head, trying to clear it from the fog that thickened his brain. It was impossible to tell them the truth. That way led to ruin. An escape occurred to him. “Sir, I don’t know who he was.”
“You’re lying,” Simon said. “We already know he asked for you. You expect us to believe that he knew you, yet you knew nothing of him?”
“It’s the truth,” Elias protested stubbornly.
“No,” said Baldwin shortly. “It is not true. You knew him.” Elias shook his head. To Baldwin he looked as determined as a mule. On a whim the knight lowered his tone. “Why should a man stab his victim and then cut off his head?”
“His head was off?” Elias curled his lip in revulsion.
“More than that,” said Simon shortly. “His head was taken away. We don’t know where it is.”
Elias shivered suddenly as if attacked with an ague. Baldwin was convinced he wasn’t acting. There was nothing new in a man being murdered with a knife – almost all murders were committed with knives or daggers. But removing a victim’s head was a different matter.
“Who would… Why?” the cook stammered. “I mean, what would someone do that for?”
Simon crossed his arms and leaned against the awning’s support. “That’s a good question,” he said.
“Elias, why will you not tell us who the man with you last night was?” Baldwin asked.
“I don’t know him,” Elias asserted doggedly.
The knight surveyed him quizzically. “You were with the man for ages. It is obvious you must have known him. Yet you continue in this ridiculous denial. Perhaps we should remove you to the jail so you can reconsider.”
They both saw the fear and doubt twist the little man’s visage. Simon felt only contempt. The cook was weak. For some reason he was scared of letting the truth come out. But his very weakness was what made Baldwin doubt that Elias was capable of murder. He found himself recalling the corpse. It was strong and square with a barrel chest, the body of a man in his prime of health and strength. In life he must have been a little over middle height. His shoulders and biceps marked him out as a powerful figure.
The knight considered the frail man before him. Would so pathetic a character be capable of murder, he wondered – especially the murder of a strong man who was fit and healthy. Baldwin had met enough cutthroats who were willing to slip from a darkened alley to overcome their prey, but Elias did not have the air of one of them. His expression was not guilty, merely determined.
Baldwin had seen that expression before, and for a moment he wondered where, then it came to him. He had once caught a boy in one of his meadows, terrified sheep running all around. A lamb had disappeared, and the enraged knight had accused the lad of theft. While defiantly denying all complicity, the boy had refused to say what had happened. It was only later when Baldwin had found the missing lamb, dead and partly eaten, that he had discovered the truth. The lad’s dog had chased the sheep and lambs. It had captured one of them and run away with it. But the dog was the boy’s only friend and companion. He would prefer to be punished himself than see his dog killed.
The knight stared thoughtfully at the cook. He would not arrest Elias yet, he decided. There was no logic to his decision; it was based solely on his sense of justice. Elias was no footpad. Surely whoever had killed and decapitated the body, leaving it in the rubbish, was no weakling but a strong and powerful man in his own right.
No, he thought. He would leave the cook for now. If there was any more definite evidence against him, he could arrest him later. For the time being, Baldwin was content to keep an eye on him.
But when he reached the end of the alley in which Elias’ stall lay, he couldn’t help feeling he was taking a risk. “Edgar,” he said to his man-at-arms, “I don’t think Elias is the killer, but he knows something. Stay here and keep an eye on him. I don’t want him disappearing.”
Lybbe was in two minds which group to follow. Avice and her father were heading off toward the spicers’ area, while it looked as though the Italians were returning to the Abbey. While he stood wavering, he caught sight of the friar.
