natural question, he knew. The dress was far too good for a tavern slut like her. “No,” he said. “I’ve never seen it before.”
Simon glanced up at him, his dagger taking another shaving from the stick. The captain’s voice had been quieter, almost contemplative, and Simon was sure he was lying.
11
P aul was in the yard when they got out, serving three travellers, who sat eyeing the mercenaries with such trepidation they reminded Baldwin of rabbits watching a crouching fox. Hugh and Edgar joined them by the door to the hall, and as the innkeeper passed by on the way to his buttery, Baldwin stood in his path. “Paul, do you mind if we go and take a look round Sarra’s room?” Taking his shrug for agreement, the knight led the way. They climbed the staircase to her door and tried the handle. It opened.
“I can see why she would prefer to get herself married” Baldwin observed.
It was a sparsely furnished little room. A palliasse lay on the floor to the right for her mattress, and a table held her few belongings. Some tunics and an apron were hooked over pegs in the timber frame of the building, but one lay as if kicked aside on the floor, and a belt rested on the bed itself.
“She must have changed into the blue tunic here,” Baldwin murmured. “But where did she get it?”
“Baldwin, are you beginning to think that Cole didn’t kill her?” Simon asked.
The knight waved a hand, vaguely encompassing the inn. “I don’t know what to think. That lad Cole seems pleasant, while the two who caught him are…well, I would be happier not to have to rely on them myself. The girl could have upset them: if Henry had overheard her telling his master that he was about to try to depose him as leader, he might have lost his temper and knocked her out, put her in the chest, and then killed her, although it hardly seems likely. Why put her in the chest in the first place? Why not kill her outright?”
“Perhaps he was going to do so, but got interrupted? Someone arrived, so he had to stuff the girl into the chest and came back later to kill her.”
“No.” Baldwin dropped on to the palliasse and stared round the room. “That can’t be it. If he was in such a hurry to hide her away, how could he find time to bind and gag her? It makes no sense!”
He opened the door and peered round cautiously. There was an odd feeling of anticipation as he went in, as if he expected her to hurl herself at him and attack. But she couldn’t-not now. Still, the dream would keep coming back, and even while he was awake the memory of it lurched around in his mind like a heavy rock which occasionally bludgeoned other thoughts out of the way.
That night he had rubbed down his horse after his journey and stretched, making his muscles strain taut as he tried to ease the tension in his neck and shoulders. It was late, and he hadn’t wanted to wake his staff.
Shutting the stable door quietly, he had made his way over the yard to the hall, but had then hesitated. Before bed, he had reasoned, a last drink would be a comfort, and he had gone through to the buttery. A cask had already been broached and, filling a pot with ale, he had tipped it up to finish the last drop before opening the door and emptying his bladder onto the packed earth of his yard. Tugging his tunic back into position with a tired shrug, he had been unable to stop another yawn before going to his bedchamber.
The building was old, and he must go through the hall to get to the bedroom in the small solar block beyond. Stepping quietly, he had avoided waking the men sleeping on either side. The door beyond opened silently.
He was strong and known to be bold, but the sight that met his eyes made him stand stock-still in horror.
The fire was dying, and only offered a dull orange glow to light the betrayal. She had not bothered to pull the bedclothes back to cover herself, and her inelegantly sprawled body gleamed with a silken sheen, while beside her the figure grunted and snored in his sleep like a hog after truffles.
Standing in the doorway and staring at the two figures, his mind had worked with a fresh clarity. He could have bellowed, calling for his men to hold the man while he whipped the adulterous bitch, but they must already know of the treachery, for this libertine could only have got in through the hall, and he must surely have been seen by one or more of the servants.
No, he had thought: there was a better way to punish her. And him.
None of the servants had woken. Closing the door with care, stiff with the dread of being heard, he had made his way from the room and out to the stable. Nobody had expected him, and no one had seen him. He would ride away, and return tomorrow as if nothing had happened; no one would be any the wiser. And he could begin his revenge by agreeing to the plan proposed that evening.
He had calmed the tired beast, speaking low to soothe it, thrown the blanket over and tightened the girth straps, but his actions were mechanical, his mind back in the bedchamber. She was his. And someone else had stolen her. They must both pay-one for the dishonor, one for the theft of his woman.
And now they were going to pay, he smirked, drawing the dagger and resting the metal against his cheek. The blade sat against his belly while sheathed, and it was warm; just as it had been when he had pulled it free of her body.
Henry strolled out into the yard and walked to a table far from the inn’s hall, where he could see the door. After a few minutes, John left the stables and, seeing his friend, sauntered over to join him.
The other men of the band were inside, mostly dozing after eating and drinking too much of Margery’s strong ale, and this was the first time the two had been alone since their questioning about the robbery and murder. Henry found himself eyeing his companion suspiciously.
“Has anyone been talking to you?” he asked.
“Me? No-why? Someone been bending your ear?”
“No,” Henry muttered, and glanced at the hall again. “But Sir Hector has been very quiet toward me. I keep seeing him staring at me when he thinks I won’t notice. And I saw him talking to old Wat.”
“That cruddy old bastard! He should have kept his trap shut.”
“Yes, but he didn’t. He shot his mouth off to the bailiff’s man, and the Keeper will soon know what the old fool thinks.”
“All he can say is that we sometimes fleece recruits.”
“You sure?”
“Look, nobody saw anything. If they had, we’d know.”
“Oh yes? How many times have we seen the captain negotiating with others who thought they were winning, only to find he’d changed sides? You know as well as I do he’s able to hide his thoughts.”
“Yes,” John said, and stared gloomily at the inn. “What do you think, then?”
“No one knows we got the silver. I reckon we ought to get away while we can.”
“Get away?” There was an unmistakable note of horror in his voice.
Henry hunched his shoulders grimly, his mouth set into a determined gash. “What else can we do? The plate is hidden well enough, but it could be found. And if anyone guesses that we had a part in the theft, they’ll know who to blame for the murder.”
“I suppose so,” John muttered, avoiding his gaze.
Henry glanced round. Their flight would be easier if both left together. Two men could keep a lookout for pursuit more easily than one alone. He nodded, leaning closer to his friend, and they began to plan how they would make good their escape.
Baldwin was thinking of rags. They had finished their meal which, because today was Wednesday and therefore a fast day, was fish. Peter was known for the quality of his board, and Baldwin was pleased to see that he had stocked up well in anticipation of the Bishop’s visit. The larder and pantry were full, and the stew pond out at the back of the garden was full of pike and bream.
He turned the patch of material over in his hands, and then cast a glance at Margaret. “What do you think of this?”
“Hmm? Oh. What is it?” she asked, and took it from him, nearly dropping it when he told her where it came from.
“Don’t worry! She did not die of a contagion that can be passed to you by the cloth, unless metal contains its own poison. No, I was merely wondering what you thought of the material.”
