the planking, he sprang forward, his dagger grasped firmly in his fist. He took in the situation at a glance; the butcher stood with his back to him on the opposite wall. Hugh sprinted to the corner, and then approached along the shorter wall. He was too far to attempt to throw his knife yet, so he grabbed his purse, sliced through the cords which bound it, and hurled it with all his might at the butcher’s back.
Adam snarled like a terrier distracted from its prey, and turned, his teeth bared. He shook a fist, and was about to turn back to Margaret, but Hugh now was close enough. He tossed his dagger up lightly, catching it by the very tip of the blade, then hurled it, roaring as he pounded along the ramshackle planking.
Dropping his own knife, Adam stared angrily at the bone handle which protruded from his breast. He muttered, and caught at the handle, as if to tug it free, but a thin dribble of blood spat from his lips, and he seemed to have lost all energy. His fingers were heavy, so very heavy, and it was hard simply to grip the knife. He gibbered in impotent rage, letting his arms fall as Hugh came closer, and took a step back. With a hideous screech of blind terror, he stumbled too far and fell over the edge.
Margaret watched his body fall. It took a long time to strike the ground, she noticed unemotionally, and his cry went on for ages until it suddenly stopped with a dull thud.
She was aware of Hugh at her side, his hands taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him, while he studied her throat anxiously, giving a huge sigh of relief when he saw that there was no damage. She stared up at him lethargically, wanting to stand, but the effort was too much, and even when he offered her his hand, she could hardly grip it. He had to heave her up to her feet, and even then she found her legs simply could not support her. She had to lean against him for fear of following Adam over the edge.
Soon Edgar and Baldwin were there with them. Baldwin cut the thongs binding her wrists, and between the three of them they managed to get her to the ladder and gradually helped her down with the aid of a rope.
At the bottom, Simon groaned as he caught her up in his arms and buried his head in her shoulder. Baldwin and the others left the couple to themselves.
25
“A s to why he killed them, I suppose we’ll never know,” Baldwin said.
They were back in Peter Clifford’s hall, drinking Hippocras. The strong fumes of the wine, mingled with the ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves, gave off a scent which dispelled their fears and calmed their nerves.
Simon needed it. He sat by his friend, but still held the hand of his wife firmly. Right now he felt that he would never dare leave hold of it. He had learned in a very short space of time how much he adored her. The events of the afternoon had nearly shattered his mind, as the butcher had hoped. Glancing at Margaret and squeezing her fingers affectionately, he noted the lines on her brow, the heavy bruises under her eyes and the paleness of her face. It was only with an effort that he stopped himself kissing her.
Stapledon frowned. “From what you say, it was all done in an attempt to frame the mercenary.”
“Yes, as far as we can tell. From what he said, it was in order to put the blame directly on Sir Hector that he murdered the women, including his own wife.”
“A hideous act.”
“As you observe, an appalling deed. By all accounts he was very much in love with Mary, and when he discovered she was having an adulterous affair-and there appears to be no doubt whatever on that score-he went quite mad. To kill two innocents, and his own wife…Well, it beggars belief.”
Simon nodded. The little butcher must have been quite demented. He picked up his goblet and sipped, then froze. “Baldwin, have you given any instructions for releasing Cole or Sir Hector?”
“Oh…” Baldwin met Peter Clifford’s eye shamefacedly and decided not to curse. It always offended the priest. With a slight grin, he continued, “No-thanks, for reminding me.”
“I should send someone to invite them both here for a celebratory drink. Wat is still holding Sir Hector, isn’t he? Let the message go to him. Ask Wat to bring his master under guard.”
“Simon, are you planning something?” Baldwin asked suspiciously.
“Me? Of course not. The very idea!”
Stapledon watched them bemusedly. What were they planning now? It was hard to tell, but he thought he could discern something in their bantering tones, though they were too far away for him to see their expressions.
He was staggered that Margaret Puttock had been prepared to remain with her man. If he’d been her, he would have retired immediately to his room and slept, he was sure, for the story of how she had been captured and hauled aloft had been told and retold many times already, and all the servants in the house were treating her with huge respect after her ordeal. He was surprised that she had not lost her sense after such a trial, and was uncomfortably aware that his own conduct in similar circumstances might not have been so praiseworthy.
Now the two men were talking in undertones, nodding as each confirmed points with the other, and Stapledon strained his ears. They were not being quiet to hide anything, but more because their speech was an extension of each other’s thoughts. For these men, talking to the other in a low voice was indistinguishable from carrying on a sequence of logical mental processes, Stapledon thought to himself. They were almost as close as a husband and wife in the way that they appeared to be able to anticipate the words of the other and counter an argument before it had been fully expressed.
Accepting a fresh goblet of Hippocras, he wearily sank back in his chair. His head still hurt abominably, but he had suffered no long-term damage, as the surgeon had assured him. There was no loose bone where he had been struck, and for such an old man, the surgeon had implied, it was a miracle that he had suffered no worse injury. He curled his lip wryly as he recalled the highly un -Godly words he had used to drive the skinny medico from his room bawling the man out for his nerve.
The first of the two men to arrive was Cole. He looked dreadful, with his greasy hair flat on one side, and almost vertical on the crown where he had run his fingers through it. His complexion was pale and he looked as if he had been suffering from a fever, his skin was so waxy, and the general impression of illness was added to by the nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth. Tanner stood behind him, waiting for confirmation from Baldwin that he was permitted to free his prisoner, and he cut the thongs that bound Cole’s hands as soon as Baldwin nodded to him. Thankfully, and for the first time in many days, Cole dropped onto a stool, wondering what had happened to cause his miraculous release.
Less than a quarter of an hour later Sir Hector arrived with Wat and another guard. His appearance was in every way the reverse of Cole’s, making the distinction even more marked. His face was ruddy from exercise, his eyes clear and steady, his stance firm and assured.
“You asked me to come and celebrate. I understand you have ended this unhappy affair, and that Adam Butcher is dead?”
“Yes,” Baldwin smiled. “He fell from the church’s scaffolding…” He glanced at Margaret, and chose to forego a more precise description of the afternoon’s events.
“It is good to hear. I will drink to celebrate with you. Here’s to the end of a murderer!”
Simon watched him speculatively. “Would you drink the same toast for any murderer?” he enquired.
“Of course. Anyone like that is a loose brick in the wall of our society; they can bring the whole building down around us all. Society needs protection from such as they.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you know why this madman decided to kill the women? Did you discover it?”
“Ah, yes,” Simon cleared his throat. “I forgot you wouldn’t have heard. Basically, he was trying to set you up as the scapegoat.”
“He intended that?”
Baldwin nodded. “Very definitely. He wanted to ensure that you were arrested, and hanged.”
“You see,” Simon continued, before his friend could carry on, “he knew you were having an affair with his wife, and he wanted revenge.”
“He would kill all those women just to get at me? It seems hard to believe!”
“Nonetheless, it is true. He killed Judith because he knew you had…er…been her lover when you were last here.”
