this was one. “Are you Jack?”
“Yes,” he grunted, lowering the drink for a moment, then replacing it. When it was emptied, he set it down near a small barrel and stood with his arms akimbo. “Well? Is it a horse, or a cart or what?”
“It’s to find out why you have been saying villainous things about a girl in the town.”
“What do you mean?”
Baldwin watched him as he took a step closer. The smith’s eyes were focused somewhere around the knight’s left ear. “I hear you have alleged that a girl who spends her time trying to ease the pain of people afflicted with leprosy is herself no more than a harlot.”
“Whoever said that was a liar. Who says it? Eh? Who accuses me?”
This was addressed to Baldwin’s right ear. Apparently emotion caused his attention to wander. The knight moved to meet the man’s eye, but it moved with him, and Baldwin gave up the attempt.
“You were overheard by priests. They have told me what you said. What I would like to know is, what evidence do you have for your allegation?”
“I don’t need any proof.”
“You do, because without it, your comments are vile slanders. And you could be forced into court for that. Do you have any proof?”
The smith’s interest had moved on to the cobbles at his feet. He stood perusing them for several minutes, before giving a short shake of his head.
“What was it you said about her? That she was a wanton?”
“You know so much, why ask me?” His tone was sulky, and now a boot scraped its way over a patch of dust, sweeping it away, then moving it all back again. From his behavior, Baldwin would have assumed him to be a young apprentice, not a smith of some twenty-eight summers.
“Jack, why did you say such things about her?”
“She’s only young. It’s not right for her to be up there, not with that lot.” He spat accurately out through the doors. The forge was cooling without attention, and he cast it a lackluster glance before going to the doors and pulling them to.
“You must say nothing more about them, Jack. If you do, I can have you amerced for slander. You understand me? I can have you fined for telling people villainous things; things which you know are untrue.”
“I don’t know they’re untrue. What if it’s right?”
“If there is any truth in it, you show me the proof, all right? For Christ’s sake, man, think what you are doing!” Baldwin let the sea of his frustration break through the dam of his self-control. “There she is, trying to help mitigate the worst pain those poor devils are suffering, and while she’s there doing God only knows what to help soothe the agony of their disease, here you are inciting people against her! It must stop.”
The smith walked to his barrel and refilled his mug. Adopting an air of unconcern, he met the stare of Baldwin’s right shoulder. “Is that all?”
“No! What were you doing up at Godfrey’s house on the night he was murdered?”
“What? I was only there for a while…”
“When did you get there?”
“I was there late afternoon. There was a mare had lost a shoe, and I had to-”
Simon cut him off. “How long did it take?”
“All I had to do was nail it back on, it was hardly anything…”
“Did you come straight back here?” Baldwin shot.
“No! No, I went into Putthe’s buttery.”
“Why?”
“To take a drink with him. It’s not illegal!”
“How long for?”
“I don’t know. It was after dark, that’s all I-”
“How many ales did you drink?” Baldwin rasped.
“I don’t know-ask Putthe, he can tell you.”
Simon gave Baldwin a scarcely perceptible glance, with a faint shrug.
The knight fixed his eye on the smith again. “So you say you went to the hall in the late afternoon, made a new shoe…”
“No, all I did was refit the old one.”
“So you nailed it back on, went through to the buttery-was it dark by then?”
“Oh, no. It was a good hour before nightfall.”
“And in the buttery you drank quarts of ale with Putthe. Did he leave you alone while he got on with his duties?”
“No, he said there was nothing for him to do.”
“But you didn’t leave until night?”
“That’s right. I can remember it quite clearly: it was so black outside I tripped over a loose cobble in the road, and I thought to myself, If this was daylight, I’d not have missed that.”
“And you left Putthe asleep?” Simon interrupted again. “Did you hear a man shouting? A scream, anything like that?”
“No, sir. If I had, I’d have gone back immediately. No, if I’d thought poor Master Godfrey would be dead so soon after I was drinking his health with him and-”
“He was with you in the buttery?” Baldwin asked. “For how long?”
“Not long. He walked in before checking his fencing. Looked surprised to see me there, but he had a drop of ale with me and Putthe before he went out.”
“Did you see anyone else in there? Did Mistress Cecily come in?”
“No, sir. No one ”cepting the master himself.“
“Which way did you come home?”
“Along the main road, through the town, past the church, and down the hill to here.”
“Did you see anyone else on your way?”
“No, sir, it was empty. But it was quite late.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us about that night? Anything you feel could help us find the murderer?”
For the first time the smith let his eyes fleetingly meet the knight’s, and Baldwin saw he was debating whether to mention something, seeking reassurance from the Keeper before raising it. “Yes?”
“It’s nothing, I daresay, but as I left the place, I could have sworn I heard voices in the hall itself. A man and a girl.”
“Did she scream, or cry out in some way?”
“You asked me that,” Jack said peevishly. “I told you, no one screamed or anything while I was there, but I was fairly sure I heard these two voices. Just talking low, almost whispering. There was one thing, though: the girl sounded sad, I reckon. Really sad.” 15
R iding from the little smithy, Baldwin turned to Simon and held out his hands in a gesture of bafflement. “So what do you make of all this? I tell you now, I feel that the more people I speak to, the more confusing it becomes.”
Simon tilted his head on one side. “You know as well as I do that often these crimes are utterly incomprehensible until you have all the facts laid out, and then the whole picture locks together. At least we know the people who were present, which means we can isolate who might have had a motive to crush Godfrey’s skull.”
“I suppose so, but I wish I knew who the two were in Godfrey’s garden.”
“If John was telling the truth and wasn’t simply confused by seeing two bushes in the dark, you mean?” Simon chuckled. “Come on, Baldwin, don’t look so glum! You’re on your way to meet your Lady.”
“Oh, shut up!”
Simon laughed. They made their way into the outer fringe of the town, then on up to the church. Here they were about to turn right to head up to the north, when the bailiff saw Cecily’s maid at her gate. “Baldwin?”
Following his friend’s gaze, the knight gave a low whistle.
At the entrance to Godfrey’s house, hidden from the road by the wall, and only visible from this angle
