Michael JECKS - The Sticklepath Strangler

‘Just one more thing before you go,’ Baldwin said. ‘When did Aline disappear?’

‘I believe it was close to the feast day of Saint Bartholomew.’

‘Oh, late in the year, then. After harvest.’

Alexander nodded, but as Baldwin leaned forward and tilted his head to one side like an expectant hound, he had a premonition that the knight had learned more than Alexander wanted him to.

‘The length of time between the deaths of Aline and Denise shows that they couldn’t have been killed by some traveller. You say this Denise died during the famine? That was the eighth year of the King’s reign, while this poor child died four years ago – that is, the eleventh year of his reign. Two and a half years apart, Reeve. This was not done by a traveller. The murderer lives here . And he may still be alive!’

Alexander de Belston reached his house in a towering rage. It was ridiculous that he should have been made to feel guilty. It was the Coroner pandering to his own vanity, craven arse that he was! And to make himself feel important he was going to fine Alexander.

He kicked the door shut and strode through to his hall. At his table, he saw his maid Cecilia bending over a visitor, and stopped dead when he saw that it was Drogo le Criur.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

The leader of the Foresters leaned back in Alexander’s own chair and put his boot on Alexander’s table, all the while holding the Reeve’s gaze. ‘I just wanted to know if you were all right, Alex. We wouldn’t want to learn you’d confessed to something silly and implicated other people.’

‘Oh, wouldn’t we?’ Alexander sneered, but as he spoke he was aware of someone behind him. He made to turn his head, but before he could, he felt the prick of a knife at his neck.

‘It’s all right, Peter,’ Drogo said. ‘There’s no need to hurt him. Not yet.’

Alexander’s heart was thudding painfully like a drum being beaten too hard. ‘What do you want?’ He walked a little unsteadily to a bench against a wall, content in the knowledge that nobody could stand behind him. ‘I’ve done nothing to make you distrust me.’

‘Nope,’ Drogo said. ‘And nor shall you, Alex, old friend, because if I’m accused, I’ll make sure that you get strung up with me.’

Cecilia stood nervously at Drogo’s side with a tray of bread and wine. The Forester appeared to notice her for the first time, and reached out to take a pot and a hunk of bread, which he dipped into the wine, sucking it. ‘This is good wine, Alex. You do yourself very well, don’t you? No, we only wanted to talk to you and make sure that you weren’t considering chopping any of us in to save your own neck.’

‘I hadn’t even thought of it,’ Alexander said, motioning his servant over. He took a pot from her and waved her from the room. ‘I have other problems. This Coroner will want someone to be the guilty party. He’ll not leave until he thinks he’s got the murderer.’

‘Like who?’

‘I don’t want to see any man from here hanged. It would only mean a feud between one family and another. You’ve seen that as often as I have. A juror accuses a man, and that fellow’s family try to avenge him as soon as his body’s stopped dancing on the rope. I don’t want that. A blood feud would only cause more trouble.’

‘Aye. True enough.’ Drogo spat onto the rushes. ‘We need to find someone we can blame. The Coroner won’t be satisfied without a felon.’

‘No, he’ll want someone.’

‘Well, don’t think of offering him me or my men, because if you do–’

‘Before you start threatening me, remember we stand together, Drogo.’

‘And don’t you forget,’ said Drogo, ‘that if I’m caught, I’ll know who’s responsible, and I’ll see you die before me, Reeve!’

He was leaning forward now, and in his eyes Alexander saw a terrible determination. Drogo was close to the end of his tether. He looked like a man who was staring over a precipice into Hell.

Simon left the inn to go and relieve himself behind a tree. As he peed, he considered all he had seen that morning, and had to confess to himself that he had shown a complete lack of spirit. At the first sight of a corpse, he had scuttled to Jeanne’s side.

Not that he was ashamed of his queasiness in the presence of sudden death – especially when the body had been left to putrefy. The sight of a worm- and maggot-infested corpse was enough to turn anyone’s stomach.

With that merry thought, he returned to the inn. The room was gradually emptying as people left, some gazing curiously at the men in the corner, but most looking away. Adam Thorne and Vincent were talking earnestly to William the Taverner, who ducked his head and left them as soon as he saw Simon.

The Coroner’s foul temper had returned as soon as Alexander had left, and now he was trying to assess how much to fine the Reeve and the vill for their gross irresponsibility in evading their legal duties.

Jeanne was still in her seat. ‘Like you I have no interest in seeking answers to questions which were posed so many years ago,’ she said when Simon drew near. ‘I feel great sympathy for the girl, but that is all. May her soul rest peacefully.’

Simon would have prefered to remain drinking wine with her, but when Baldwin and the Coroner walked from the room, he trailed behind them.

‘It’s ridiculous, man like him, playing with the law,’ the Coroner fumed. ‘I have children too, but that doesn’t mean I’d flout my responsibilities. God’s blood, but I’d like to have him gaoled for his stupidity!’

‘Do you wish to arrest him now?’ Baldwin enquired mildly, patting Aylmer’s head.

‘You know I don’t! It’s just that the man was intolerably smug and that grates on my nerves. Cretinous idiot! As though he could have got away with it.’

‘He almost did,’ Simon pointed out. ‘If that fellow Houndestail hadn’t given the game away, we’d have been none the wiser. Obviously Alexander didn’t mean anyone to hear that this was a case of cannibalism.’

Baldwin said, ‘That I find quite curious. Almost as odd as the two girls’ deaths.’

‘Yes,’ the Coroner said. ‘But it’s plain that there’s one man who has committed two murders and we have to find him if we can.’

‘Only a madman could eat a child,’ Simon stated with conviction.

‘Certainly someone driven to extreme measures,’ Baldwin said.

They were in the roadway, and in all directions the peasants could be seen heading back towards their fields. Felicia and Gunilda were at the top of the road near the mill; Joan was running past, chased by a giggling Emma. A steady ringing told that the farriers were back at work, and the low grumbling spoke of the mill’s wheel turning. The place was returning to normal.

One group were apparently not returning to work. Ahead, leaning against the wall of a house, were Adam and Vincent. As the two girls rushed past him, Vincent caught hold of Emma, making her scream with delight as he tickled her, making her torn apron fly up in the air as he threw her up once, twice, thrice, and then set her down again and watched her pelt off after Joan once more.

When he saw the men approach, Vin’s face turned suddenly grim. At his side, leaning against the Reeve’s house and evidently unbothered by their appearance, was Adam, who greeted them, ‘Inquest all done, then?’

‘Your name is Adam?’ Baldwin responded.

‘Adam Thorne, master. Yes. This is my friend Vin.’

‘Were you both Foresters when the children were killed?’

‘Yes I was. Although Vin was only a lad then. I can remember Peter’s girl being found, and then I can remember Swet’s concern when his own girl disappeared. It was a terrible time.’