“It is true,” Sir Hector admitted. “She even alleged that her boy was my bastard!” He laughed, but nobody joined in.
“Quite,” Baldwin said. “Anyhow, Butcher saw you having your altercation with her, we think, and could see that we had witnessed it as well, so he stabbed her, knowing that this second murder would be bound to make us think you were the guilty party. After all, most murders are committed by men who kill their lovers or their wives- just as Butcher himself did with his own wife.”
Sir Hector sipped his Hippocras, nodding. “I see. And he knew I was not at the inn because I was waiting to meet his wife. He must have found out we had planned to meet. The evil devil must have forced her to tell him where and when, so that he could make me look suspicious.”
“Very likely,” Baldwin agreed. “The murder of his own wife was intended, I think, to be the sweet glazing on the fruit, the crowning proof which would lead us to arrest you. It was meant as the final evidence, and it certainly was compelling. Yet we had doubts, for she must have died some days before, and we had seen you waiting for her. You might have been trying to establish your innocence, but it did appear odd. You would have been better served to make sure that everyone knew where you were all the time.”
“I am glad you realized,” said Sir Hector gravely. “Knowing I was suspected of killing my Mary made a bad situation even harder to bear.”
“What about me?” Cole demanded. “I’ve been locked up for days, held under suspicion of murder as well as theft. What happens now? Am I truly free?”
“Oh, yes,” Simon smiled. “Our apologies for your confinement, but the evidence was extreme against you. You were new to the group, and at first all we knew of you was that you had been found with incriminating items on your person. It was natural to suspect you. Then we learned that the men who had found you were the two whom the company generally mistrusted and despised, and it was better, it seemed to us, to leave you in the jail for your own safety. You had been picked out, if you like, by two who were capable of stirring up others against you and causing your death.”
“And, of course, we had to wonder whether you might have killed Sarra,” Baldwin murmured, pouring more drink into his goblet. “There was no reason to suspect you in particular, except we had heard about you arguing with her. The only evidence, likewise, against Sir Hector at first was that he had argued with Sarra and forced her from his presence.”
Stapledon felt his brows rise. Being too myopic to see people’s expressions, he often had to rely on his impressions…and the feeling he had now was that there was a certain stillness in the room after these words. He had no idea what had caused it for a moment, but then he stared at Sir Hector. The implication of Baldwin’s words was that there was other evidence, surely.
“There was the matter of the blue tunic, for example,” Simon said easily, taking up the baton again. “Wat always said that you had an evil temper, and that you might kill her if you saw Sarra wearing it when you had not given her permission. We thought he might have tried to oust you from leadership by sending her to you wearing it. He had been planning to supplant you for some time, according to Henry and John.”
“He would have been capable of it,” Sir Hector agreed, glancing at his guard. Wat shrugged.
“But even if he did, you would have been wrong to react to it by murdering her. No, this is what happened. The two men, Henry and John, stole the silver. Henry was inside, and Sarra arrived when he was in the middle of the robbery. He heard her approach, concealed himself, and then knocked her down. There being no other place to hide her, he shoved her into the chest, and got on with his task. Later, he left.”
“We thought,” Baldwin reflected, “that Adam then managed to climb in through the window and kill her before Henry and John could return to lock the window, but there is another possibility.”
Simon leaned forward, elbows on his knees, smiling, his goblet held negligently in one hand. “It’s this: someone else returned to the room, and Adam, waiting outside, heard him. He heard the chest lid being lifted, the murder taking place.”
“If he had, he would have told you,” Sir Hector objected.
“No, possibly not. After all, he had a dislike of officials that was close to a madness. He distrusted any man in a position of authority, as we discovered. And I suppose he might well have thought that it would be easy for you to accuse him of bad blood because of your affair with his wife. You had the perfect response to any accusation he made. I think it was that, more than the adultery itself, which unhinged his mind. The knowledge that there was no one who would look after his interests made him seek a more drastic means of redress. He killed his wife-well, he was going to anyway-and perhaps it was during a flash of rage that he regretted later. But he murdered Judith simply to add weight to our suspicion of you. The sad part is, he wasted a life for no good reason. All he achieved was to divert attention from you. When we found the body of Mary as well, it was clear that some devious scheme was in progress.”
“Do you mean to accuse me?” Sir Hector thundered, standing suddenly. “Do you dare to suggest that I killed the tart?”
Baldwin eyed him coldly, then meditatively refilled his pot. “Adam was sure you went back in and stabbed the girl. Why? He would recognize you on sight, wouldn’t he? But if he was outside, Henry and John had barred the shutters giving on to the road. Adam could not have seen in. All he knew was that someone was there, and he had heard that only you, Sir Hector, and your most trusted men were allowed into your private rooms. He heard a noise-Henry and John had gone and were not yet inside-so whoever it was, it must be you. ”
“But that’s rubbish!”
“Yes, it is,” Simon agreed.
“What?”
“Adam didn’t know that someone else could also get in-the man who had to fetch the salt for your meal. Your servant, Wat.”
Sir Hector’s mouth fell open, then he turned to face his guard.
Wat was immobile for a moment. He wetted his lips, whirled, and took a half-step toward the door, but his way was barred by three of Peter Clifford’s men, all with stout cudgels in their hands. Tanner stood with them, grinning, his hands in his thick leather belt.
“Wat,” said Baldwin solemnly, “I accuse you of the murder of Sarra, a worker at the inn. You will be taken to the jail until you can be tried. If you resist…Well! I almost wish you would!”
The blustering mercenary had to be bound and led away, furiously rejecting all responsibility. It took the combined efforts of Stapledon’s men and Tanner-Hugh gave encouragement from the fringes of the melee, but managed to avoid participation-to restrain him, but at last he could be removed by a gleeful Sir Hector. While Baldwin went with them to the jail, Simon and his wife retired to their chamber.
“How are you?” he asked as she sat on the edge of their mattress. She looked dreadfully pale, and her eyes were half-closed, though the room was dark with the shutters barred against the cold darkness outside. He squatted by her and gently held her hand to his face.
“I am fine, now. Honestly.”
“You are safe, and that’s all that matters to me.”
“I thought I was going to die, for a while.”
“So did I. I hated standing there. Baldwin wouldn’t let me try to help you, and I-”
She shut his mouth with a finger. “It is over now.”
“I thought I wouldn’t be able to hold you again. I thought I was going to lose you. I love you.”
She smiled at the whispered words. “I love you too. I promise I will not leave you until you have a son.”
“I do not care about that right now. All I want is to see you well again.”
Margaret’s eyes closed, but then she remembered the conversation in the garden, and she sighed.
“What is it?”
“The Bishop was talking to me about Rollo when that man attacked us. Simon, I want us to have our own boy, not another’s. Is that selfish?”
“Selfish? Perhaps-but if you think I want any reminder of this afternoon, you are wrong. I couldn’t bear to have him in our household either. Don’t worry, I shall tell the good Bishop.”
When he returned to the hall, Baldwin was already there, seated near a frowning Stapledon. Peter was at the church exhorting the workmen to continue, and the three were alone for a while. After sitting in silence for some minutes, the Bishop peered at them. “Sir Baldwin, Simon, I must be more dense than I had realized, for I still cannot see how you have arrived at this conclusion.”
