away while they search.”
“If they went to Exeter-” The captain broke off as an unearthly shriek filled the air. When he continued, his face had reddened and his voice shook with a bellicose resentment. “God’s blood! Do they have to do it in the damned street!”
Baldwin nodded. The sound of a pig being stuck was not one which upset him unduly, being only a natural background noise anywhere in the country at this time of year, but he could see that it might be irritating. The pig was jerking in its death throes as he looked over and nodded to the butcher, who stood back watching his apprentice with his thumbs hooked into his belt. Adam nodded back happily.
Then Baldwin was jerked round by the second high-pitched squeal of terror. At the entrance to the alley opposite, he saw Hugh clutching the arm of a small boy. The lad was keeping up a constant keening ululation as he tried desperately to free himself and escape back along the alley.
Baldwin shot a glance at the captain, then gasped.
Sir Hector’s eyes were fixed on the boy. His face was white with dread, and a nerve under his eye twitched as the strident wailing rose and fell. With a hissed curse, he swiveled round and marched back inside the inn.
Standing with his back to the cool wall, he waited until his heart slowed its agonized pounding.
The boy had seen him, had recognized him from the stabbing of his mother! He should have killed the little bastard when he had the chance. It would be foolish to let him live, when he had witnessed the murder…but before he could strike, the knight’s friend, that damned Bailiff of Lydford, had appeared, and he only just had time to hide in the doorway. The boy had proved useful then, attracting the man’s attention for just long enough…But when the bailiff fell, he had spent too long gloating at the sight of the man on the ground before he tried to catch the boy. By which time he had disappeared! He had evaporated like the dregs of wine from a goblet left overnight, except the boy didn’t even leave a residue: he merely vanished.
He had looked. Oh yes, he had looked. He had searched through the rubbish, swearing constantly, picking about among the scraps of cloth and timber, muttering to himself in his futile rage as he tried to find that tragic face with the enormous eyes so that he could close them and put out the weak flame of life that burned so deeply in them…But he couldn’t find any sign of the lad.
And then the noises had started. Subtle murmurings, the swish of feet, sibilant whispers, as people woken by the disturbance began to wonder at the sudden silence. He had heard a door being tentatively opened, and froze in quick alarm. If someone should come out and investigate, there was nowhere to hide: nowhere!
Then a door creaked, and he heard low voices, people talking in hushed, horror-struck tones. There was a pile of torn and rotten sacking nearby, and he leapt to it without a second thought, dragging the foul cloth over himself.
Footsteps had approached and faded, local inhabitants walking toward him, then exclaiming as they found the bodies and had turned back. People had seemed awed by the enormity of what they had discovered. Then there was a short pattering as those same people bolted for the security of their houses, and he was sure that he was alone at last.
Cautiously peeping out from under his covering, he had seen that the alley was clear once more. He had clambered out and quickly felt the woman. She was cooling rapidly; he knew she must be dead, for he had felt enough dead bodies in his time.
The bailiff was still alive and breathing-almost snoring, as if he had been simply snoozing after a good meal. The noise infuriated him. It was loud enough to waken the whole town! he thought angrily. He tugged his knife from its sheath, ready to stab, when the new noise stopped him. More doors opening stealthily; more voices. He had no time, he must make his escape. At least the bailiff had not seen him-he had not had the chance to spy his attacker before falling. Still holding the knife, the killer bolted, moving quietly on soft pigskin boots which made little sound on the packed earth of the alley. Only at the end had he realized he still held the dagger in his fist. He thrust it into its sheath and, with suddenly nerveless fingers, he had half-leaned, half-staggered to the nearest wall, where he stood with his hands dangling, staring over the road to where he had killed her.
She had deserved it, and so had he, the bastard, he reflected with satisfaction. And then a slow smile broke out across his features as he considered how his plan was going.
The same slow smile appeared now, and the thin layer of tension was banished from his face. She had deserved it, and so had he. And soon, surely, he would pay the price in full for his deeds. Unless-a frown twisted his face-unless that cretin of a Keeper of the King’s Peace should realize. He was known to be clever-what if he guessed at the truth? With a shrug, he put the idea from his mind. There was plenty of proof for the knight of Furnshill. The Keeper of the King’s Peace must realize soon what had happened.
Baldwin strode back through the town with no regard for the two men and child following. His stern expression matched his somber mood as he thought it all through again. Sarra had been killed after an argument with the captain. Judith had been stabbed to death after trying to beg from him, and he had refused her in no uncertain terms. The man had lost his silver, but that appeared now to have been the work of a couple of his own men, who had run away with their profit before their unstable leader could exact his own punishment. He made a mental note to free Cole: if the two had stolen the plate, surely they must also have killed Sarra…But although he slowed his step, he did not turn and march back to the jail. It might be better to keep Philip locked up for now, until the mercenaries had left the town. There might still be some who would be prepared to execute him in misguided loyalty to Sir Hector. Baldwin recalled how Wat had suggested that Cole had been friendly with Henry and John too; so it was just possible that Cole had been involved, that he had been a willing accomplice to the theft. He resolved to leave the man in jail a little longer.
Why the man had knocked Simon out was anyone’s guess, but Baldwin was now of a mind to think that Judith’s killer either had not wanted to kill the bailiff but had been disturbed by his blundering nearby, or had intended to kill him as well, but had been interrupted by someone else. Whichever proved to be the truth, Baldwin was certain that Sir Hector would not have balked at killing either Simon or himself.
“Hugh, could you take the boy away for a minute?”
Baldwin watched as Hugh led Rollo some feet away, then faced Edgar, standing still in the road. A rider passed, swearing at them for blocking the road, but Baldwin ignored him. “Edgar, whoever the murderer is, he has killed two women, and would probably have done for the lad as well.” Baldwin gravely studied the small figure with Hugh. “He has been very brave, our Rollo. Let’s hope he can be braver still and tell us what he saw last night. Simon escaped by a miracle. Next time, the killer might be more lucky-if he wants to see Simon dead.”
“But surely if he wanted to kill Simon he would have stabbed him rather than knocking him cold,” Edgar suggested.
“That’s possible. But he knocked out Simon after he’d killed the woman, I assume. She felt quite cool to the touch, so she’d been dead some time. It’s quite likely he only struck Simon because he wanted to silence him. Perhaps he would have stabbed him as well but he was stopped by other people approaching.”
“So you think he might still try to kill Simon? That’d be a little irrational, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s hardly the behavior of a rational man to kill two women, is it? There’s nothing I’m aware of which links them: a girl from an inn and a beggar. And if he is not rational, he might come to the conclusion that Simon could have seen him. He might decide that it is better to make absolutely sure of Simon’s silence-that’s why I want you to look to our friend’s protection. Don’t let anyone near him while he’s unwell.”
Edgar nodded. Hugh returned when Baldwin beckoned.
“Hugh, I want you to stay with your master all the time he’s ill from this blow to his head. I think he might be in danger. Edgar will help you.”
Simon’s servant glowered truculently. Jerking a thumb at Rollo, he was about to speak out when Baldwin hastily cut him off.
“Right, let’s get back before anything else can happen.”
The last thing he needed was for the boy to be even more scared than he already was. Baldwin did not want Hugh to point out that, of all of them, Rollo himself must be in the most danger.
Walter Stapledon pulled the spectacles from his nose with a wry smile and sighed. There was no doubt that the two discs of glass helped enormously, and with them he could see as well as he ever had, but they were tiring for his eyes. Roger was reading at another table, and he looked up on hearing his Bishop’s despairing exhalation. Stapledon was staring up at one of the windows as if for inspiration, his brow furrowed with affairs that Roger could only guess at.
The matters which were causing so much distress to the Bishop were not simple issues about the cathedral,
