braids and rearrange them. “Come on, Roger. I have to get back to the hall or Agatha will throw me out.”
“A moment more,” he groaned, and reached for her.
She stood, chuckling, neatly avoiding his hand. “No! I have to work. Especially now, with the fair about to begin. I shouldn’t really have done this tonight. What if the Abbot should hear?”
“Let him! Why should I care?”
“You may not have to worry, but I do. He could have me evicted. It’s happened before.”
He looked up, an angry gleam in his eye. “You think the port-reeve would report you for this?”
Lizzie shook her head. “No, he fancies me. David would never report me, but someone else might.”
“He fancies you?” Torre rolled on to an elbow, and his face was serious. “I had no idea. He must have seen us leave the room together.”
“So what?” She patted her hair and tucked a stray wisp away. “He doesn’t own me any more than you do. I live as I want and no man can keep me. In any case, he’s never so much as touched me. I don’t think he knows how to.”
Torre frowned up at her, then at the door. “Maybe, but I wouldn’t hurt his feelings.”
“You were happy enough to in there,” she said tartly.
“That was different: just an argument. But I know David. He’s a decent man. I wouldn’t want to offend him.”
Lizzie froze for a moment as the bell from the Abbey tolled for compline. “Listen to that, it’s getting late,” she said, hurriedly completing her toilet. “Look, if you don’t want to upset him, don’t go back into the hall but go straight to your rooms. If he doesn’t see you with me, he’ll believe me when I tell him you left some time ago. All right?”
“Good idea.” He climbed up and donned his loose-fitting hose, tying them neatly, pulling on his shirt and doublet, then his red jacket.
She watched him contentedly. He had a good figure, she thought, and he’d been kind and gentle. Hopefully he’d return later on, and if he did, she’d not mind showing him her favors again. She waited till he’d dressed and walked quickly out, then finished her own toilet. A shoe had been kicked away, and she had to seek it, finding it partly hidden beneath the blanket tossed from the bed, before she could follow him. Closing the door, she turned and stopped. Leaning against the door-jamb of the tavern was Holcroft. He stared at her for what seemed a long time, then turned without a word and walked away.
She heaved a sigh, hoping he wouldn’t go straight to the Abbot to accuse her, then made her way back into the hall and began pouring ale. When she passed Agatha, she slipped the coin into the alewife’s hand. The alewife always had her fifth for room and rental.
He curled his lip at the smell from the pile of rubbish. It stank of putrefaction and decay, a revolting concoction. Leaning against the wall, he waited while his heartbeat slowed and calmed.
It had been easy to waylay him; easier than he’d dreamed. The burly figure was instantly recognizable, even in the dark with no lanterns or sconces – they weren’t allowed during the fair because of the hazard – and although he’d seen the man waiting patiently, he’d done nothing more than duck his head and make a vague sign of the cross.
The killer nudged tentatively at the corpse with his foot. It was almost an anticlimax now he was dead. The action of stabbing him was so quick, and his gasp and collapse so sudden, that he could hardly believe he’d succeeded. There had been no cry, no shriek for help, just a brief, pained gasp, and then he’d dropped like a felled tree. It gave his murderer a feeling of immense power, knowing he could kill so swiftly and easily with impunity.
But he couldn’t leave the body here, in plain view for any reveller to discover. He gripped the feet and dragged the figure backward into the alley. The midden pile would be an ideal hiding place – nobody would want to approach that in the dark in case of stepping in some of its components. He could hear a short scrabbling as he hauled the body and glanced about him with distaste. Rats!
Dropping the feet, he stood a moment staring down at the corpse before kicking waste from the pile over the body in an attempt to conceal it. Satisfied with his efforts, he hurried down the alley, the habit flapping at his heels as he went. At the road he slowed, stuffed his hands in his sleeves over his chest in an attitude of contemplation, and walked out and down the road. When he saw Arthur Pole and his wife and daughter, he was secretly delighted to see that all bowed their heads respectfully and offered him a good evening.
4
It was the morning of the fair, and David Holcroft made his way to the Abbey with relief. The previous night had been as bad as he had expected: after all his work, he’d have liked his wife to show some interest in the fair and sympathy for his exertions. Instead she was withdrawn and uncommunicative. They had hardly spoken ten words, and she had soon gone to bed pleading a sickness in her stomach.
At the bottom of the fair’s field, he turned and gazed back: everything was settled and organized, and he was sure the Abbot could have no cause for complaint. In the early-morning light, the colors stood out with startling clarity. There was a thin mistiness in the air which gave all a silvery sheen as if bathed in an intense moonlight. Flags hung dispiritedly from their poles in the still air, and there was a feeling of unreality about the whole place, as though it was a ghostly mirage. That would soon be dispelled when the customers arrived and the fair was declared open. Instantly it would be transformed into a rowdy beargarden as voices rose to argue and haggle over the choice arrays of goods. He could already see people making their way up from the town, keen to be the first to see the latest items from all over the kingdom and farther afield.
As the first hammer strokes sounded he nodded to himself. The furnaces of the smiths were lighted, and he could see the pale streamers of smoke rising like conical wraiths, only to dissipate as they climbed higher. This was the true beginning of the fair, he always felt, when the tradesmen and craftsmen began their morning rituals.
And like the determined call of a church’s bells, he saw that the ringing and clattering from the anvils worked its own magic on the fair’s congregation. The trickle of people heading up to the ground grew into a stream even as he watched, and soon there was a steady river of buyers, hawkers, merchants and entertainers all making their way up from the town itself. It always astonished him how many foreigners the place could hold at fair-time.
He walked with the calm satisfaction that the fair would be a success, but his mood gradually altered as he came close to the Abbey gate. Here he had to wait a moment before being led inside to the large square room beside the gate itself.
Ten constables and twenty-nine watchmen were due to meet him, the complement from the surrounding vills, each man earning two pennies. He had already checked the mounted men the previous afternoon. These, eight all told, were stationed up and down the roads wherever the woods were thickest, to protect any travellers who came to attend the fair from outlaws. Felons often tried robbing merchants: they were easy pickings while tired after a long journey.
The mounted men were always the best, he knew. They were the ones who could afford horses, which necessarily placed them above the average vill watchmen; that was why they earned six pennies a day. It wasn’t only the extra expense of looking after a horse that justified the money, it was the fact that they were simply better men.
Nodding at the clerk who kept records of the payments made to the men, and any amercements, he stood as the men filed in. At the sight of the constables, he closed his eyes in silent despair, offering up a quick prayer before opening them again with resignation.
The first that came into view was Daniel, the farmer’s son from Werrington. Daniel radiated kindness and goodwill, with the open smile of the pathologically truthful man. He gave the impression of bovine clumsiness and dull-wittedness, and the port-reeve meditated grimly on the devious market-traders. They would all try to pull the wool over this one’s eyes.
Next to him were the four watchmen from Denbury, led by Long Jack. David gave them a sour stare.
“Let’s see them, then.” The port-reeve eyed the weapons held out for him to inspect. “What is that?”
