enough. He could have cursed Will for his stupid attempt at assassination. There was no need to kill the man! Hector was already finished. This pair of murders was more than enough to seal his fate, whereas if he was murdered, the whole troop could be held up while the Keeper tried to figure out who was responsible. It was stupid to have tried to break in like that. It had taken all Wat’s self-restraint to prevent him punching the wounded man who lay on his blanket whining about the pain from his side, and he had relished the lad’s agony as the old bolt was jerked from his wound, the bright crimson blood flowing in a steady tide down his flank.
Wat grinned to himself and set off back to the inn. His plans were almost complete. He would be surprised if he was not captain within a week.
Simon frowned after him as the mercenary left the room. When they heard the door slam he faced his friend, his perplexity making him sound peevish. “What’s he on about? Does he really think Sir Hector did it, do you reckon?”
“Yes, I believe he is fairly sure that his master did kill the women, but that has very little to do with why he came here.”
“What was he doing here, then?”
“He was forcing us to arrest his master.”
“Baldwin, it may be my head, but I cannot see what you are-”
“Sorry, Simon, I was thinking out loud.” Baldwin smiled at his friend. “I have known such bands of wandering soldiers in the past, when I was in Rome and France, and they have one principle which seems the same for all of the companies: there is an election of a leader. The man in charge is always the strongest, the one most likely to win the money and women for the rest.”
“So Sir Hector is the strongest among them?”
“ Was. That, I think, is soon to become his problem. He was the strongest and most ruthless, and because of that his men feared and respected him. Now, though, it would seem that he has sunk in Wat’s estimation. He is prepared to come here and give several hints that his master could be capable of the two killings, and give us motives for them both. Sir Hector should tread carefully when he goes down any quiet streets. He may find someone waiting with a drawn dagger.”
Simon puffed out his cheeks. “What on earth makes a man seek power like that?”
There was a chuckle from behind them. “Are you referring to me?”
“Bishop, of course not! I…My apologies if you thought…” Simon stammered.
“It is my fault for listening without permission. I confess to my sin,” Stapledon chuckled, peering at him shortsightedly. He motioned to Roger to fetch wine, and sat with them, “But you look troubled, my friends. Can I help? Is it something to do with the two men in Exeter?”
“If,” Baldwin said heavily, “I was right, and that’s where they’ve gone. You are partly right, my lord. It is to do with them and their kind.”
“The murders?”
“Yes.” Baldwin sighed. “There seem to be so many men in that little band who could kill, and several who might have been involved, and still worse, now it seems there is some rivalry going on within it, so we have a man come here to denounce his leader.”
“Ah, I see. You are looking for a murderer, and rather than the normal situation where there is a body and a dearth of possible killers, you have been presented with a pair of dead women and an embarrassment of potential murderers. Not to mention,” he mused, “a poor lad who is now without a protector.”
Simon rubbed his eyes. They felt gritty from lack of sleep the night before. “And a robbery.”
“Yes.” Baldwin glanced at Simon. “And now we think that the two mercenaries were the thieves, I suppose we should free young Cole, though we might as well wait until we have had a chance to speak to the other two.”
“Yes. I’d leave Cole there for a little longer. Apart from anything else, he’s safer there from Sir Hector’s men. One or two of them still might try to curry favor by hurting him.”
“If my men do bring Smithson and the other one back from the city, what then?” asked Stapledon. “Will you arrest them for the murder as well as the robbery?”
“I suppose so,” Baldwin said doubtfully
“Could they have killed Judith as well?”
“I can see no reason why they should. What connection could there be between her and them?”
“Is there any need for any connection? Surely men such as these need no excuse to kill?” Stapledon asked.
“There’s always a reason to kill, even if it is simply a fit of anger. I cannot believe that these two men happened to see Judith in the alley and decided to murder her.”
“In that case, look for men who knew her and had a reason.”
“We have one,” Simon said. “Sir Hector.” He explained to the Bishop what they had learned from Wat.
“I see.” Stapledon primly pursed his lip. “I should have thought that would be enough to arrest the man. One woman, lately his lover, has been found dead in his room, and from what you say, wearing a tunic he had purchased especially for another. Then a second woman demands money from him because she has borne him an illegitimate son, and she too dies. It seems more than a coincidence to me.”
“Yes,” Simon agreed, but his eyes were on Baldwin.
The knight sat staring into the middle distance, a twist of his mouth giving him a sardonic smile. Coming to, he stood. “Bishop, you are right. We have to find out who had a link with the two women and stop simply listening to the views of others. That is why we’re being blown with the wind, first taking one man’s word as true, then taking another’s.”
There was an animation about him which suggested to Simon that he had an idea he wanted to test. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, there have been various men coming here and trying to influence us. Now it is time for us to find out what we need, rather than waiting for others to tell us what they want us to know.”
“Fine,” Simon said sarcastically. “And where do we start?”
“First with the people in Judith’s street. But this time, I want to know about her. So far we have been tied up, thinking about all the killers in town, but the people who knew her, and who knew Sarra too, live here, in Crediton. The motive for the murders is here. The theft of the silver was here, the women lived here, the killings were committed here. Surely if we can find a connection between them, all will become clear and we will discover who the murderer is.”
Hugh was not happy about leaving his master to the care and protection of Sir Baldwin and Edgar, but when he saw how tired his mistress looked, he could understand that she would need a rest from her boisterous daughter.
But though Hugh was forced to remain, he made his feelings plain that Simon too should stay behind. There was no point in his leaving, the servant felt, and he watched the three men’s departure with simmering resentment.
It was also impossible for Roger to leave the house. Whenever he left the orphan, the boy set up such a screaming that he had to return. Rollo would not accept anyone else being near him unless Roger was there, a situation which seemed to have been reinforced when the rector had gone to him the night before. The mad, terrified panic had driven the child from his comfortable palliasse, and when Roger had entered, he had found the boy curled in a fearful ball in the corner of the room farthest from the window. As the thunder crackled and boomed, Roger had turned his eyes upward. The storm sounded like ten thousand moorstone slabs being fractured all at once, and he was convinced that the roof must collapse. He was unpleasantly reminded of the walls of Jericho as he listened to the immense power of the storm. Rollo had whimpered, trying to squeeze himself away as Roger went in, but when he squatted nearby, there was a sudden splintering crackle overhead, and the boy had leapt into his lap.
They were soon at the alley where Simon had been attacked, and it took little time for them to find the door on which Hugh had knocked to find Rollo. Baldwin beat upon it and stood back.
It was the mother who opened it. She stood wiping flour from her hands while she surveyed them with the truculence born of poverty. Baldwin noticed that she was tall, and apart from the lines caused by worry and poor diet, would have been handsome. But the vertical slashes at either cheek, the bruises under the eyes and the nervous tic were proof of her mean existence.
