Michael JECKS - The Sticklepath Strangler

Alexander was all but spitting now at the memory of that fool on his great horse, fat and smug in his velvets and furs and silks, peering about him disdainfully.

‘He said: “These fellows are slaves. All they own is their bellies.”

‘ “Their bellies”! Well, all we owned then was our hunger, and fear of dying. I had seen my wife die, and my two boys, during the famine. They were all I ever loved, and I wasn’t alone.’

‘This is most interesting, but perhaps you could come to the point?’ Sir Laurence yawned.

Alexander looked at him, his face carefully composed. Sir Laurence was no better than that Prior: a knight like him had no sympathy for the sufferings of the poor. If the whole of Sticklepath were to perish, Sir Laurence might utter a few words of polite commiseration to Lord Hugh de Courtenay for the loss of his serfs, but that would be all. Peasants mattered less to him than his hunting dogs.

The Reeve swallowed his frustration. ‘The point is, I got him his money, and he took it and returned to the tavern for the night. Except he didn’t stay there. I went there myself later that evening, only to be told that he had left. I saw Meg the day after, and she was asking where he had gone. She’d been expecting him to turn up at her place the evening before. Poor maid, she was tearful and distressed. He’d cleared off – that was obvious. I didn’t worry myself about it. At least I’d saved the vill from his greed. But that night his body was found lying in the valley leading up to Belstone.’

Alexander didn’t look over his shoulder. At this moment he knew he held Drogo’s ballocks in his hand. He could almost hear the Forester’s tension, like a bowstring ready to snap, but he was damned if he would accept all the responsibility. He wouldn’t be the fall guy for Drogo.

‘I knew it was Ansel. He’d been throttled with a thong, a simple strip of hide, and dumped.’

‘And?’ Baldwin asked keenly.

‘Sir Baldwin, please don’t interrupt his fascinating speech,’ Sir Laurence pleaded.

Alexander sighed. ‘Yes. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d been eaten, too. Not by animals. I mean, dogs and the like had chewed at him and his eyes had been pecked out, but those wounds couldn’t hide the fact that a man had butchered him.

‘It was too much to bear. I knew that the result would be more than a straight fine: this could cost the vill very dearly, perhaps even cause us all to starve to death. I’m not joking, Keeper. You remember how bad that famine was?

‘So… I had to choose, and as Reeve, I chose life for the vill. I deliberately hid the body. I found a shovel and buried him, and I came home and… God! Won’t those damned hounds ever shut up?’

Baldwin eyed the silent man at the wall. ‘Did anyone help you?’

‘Drogo did. It was he and his Foresters who found the body,’ Alexander said firmly.

‘You fucking–’ Drogo’s forward leap was halted by Baldwin’s bright blue sword, which was suddenly at the exposed gap between his jack and his hose. He could feel the razor-sharp point at his groin.

‘Did this Purveyor have a purse on him?’ Simon asked. ‘Could the butchery have been to hide a robbery? I’ve known Foresters who’ve turned to robbery themselves.’

‘Whoever killed him certainly took the purse.’

‘This is most intriguing. I have all I need,’ Sir Laurence said, rising.

‘Wait, Sir Laurence.’ Coroner Roger smiled politely. ‘I am the Coroner, and this witness is helping me to conduct an inquest.’

‘Without a jury?’

‘That will be organised tomorrow, or perhaps the day after,’ the Coroner said happily, knowing that the knight would not want to wait more than a single day.

‘I see,’ Sir Laurence said. He gave a faint smile and nodded to the Coroner, acknowledging that he had lost, and resettled himself in his seat with a good grace, waving a hand and murmuring, ‘Please continue.’

Coroner Roger nodded. ‘So you say Drogo was First Finder?’

‘Yes. Him and his men. They fetched me.’

Drogo felt the colour rising to his cheeks. He hated this: he had expected the Reeve to mention him, but then it had appeared that Alexander wasn’t going to. Now he knew his fear was plain. His face always reddened at the drop of a hat; it didn’t matter a damn whether he was entirely innocent or not, it was the mixture of embarrassment and irritation that mingled to bring on his flush. Vin’s eyes were on him, too, but he daren’t look at the lad.

Baldwin asked, ‘Where exactly was the body?’

‘Under some furze near the river.’

To Baldwin, Drogo looked like a man who was losing his temper quickly. ‘What do you say, Drogo?’

‘It’s true that I found him. I sent my man to fetch the Reeve and stood with the body until he returned, and when he did, I carried the corpse with the Reeve and buried it with him.’

‘Who was sent?’

‘Adam.’

‘You confirm this, Adam?’

‘Yes. On my oath.’

Drogo said, ‘The Reeve was worried, of course. We both were. I sent Adam and Peter away and fetched a shovel myself. Then I started digging.’

‘Where?’

Alexander smiled without amusement. ‘You remember I told you that the wall kept falling where Aline was found? It is all too common. Probably because of the tree roots there. Anyway, the wall had just been rebuilt. All we had to do was dig down a short way in the soft soil and put the body in.’

‘What? Aline was buried in the same grave? That was why you saw different material where Aline had lain, Simon!’ Baldwin realised.

‘Yes. Dig a little deeper; you’ll find him.’

Baldwin looked at him very closely. ‘And then this girl was buried on top of him by someone who knew that Ansel was already there. It was the perfect hiding place for Aline, wasn’t it? Somewhere the Reeve himself would have been careful to make sure was never searched. Is that right? You prevented people from searching that place for Aline’s body?’

‘Nobody suggested it,’ Alexander said heavily.

‘But the person who concealed her there must have known about Ansel,’ cried Simon. ‘It’s too improbable that someone could have buried the girl on top of an existing grave without knowing it. The burial right there must have been conducted by someone who had been involved in hiding Ansel. And that means you, Reeve, or you, Forester.’

Reeve Alexander stared at Drogo for a moment. ‘I swear I did not kill Aline.’

Drogo’s face was suffused an angry-looking crimson. ‘Are you saying I did? Do you accuse me in front of all these people, Reeve?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t kill her myself, that’s all I know.’

‘Well, neither did I! And there were no other people there so far as I recall.’

‘Hold, Forester!’ Simon called loudly. For a moment he had thought that the Reeve was going to launch himself at Drogo. Clearly Adam thought the same. He had set a hand on his knife hilt as though readying himself to pull it free. Vincent had drawn away. Simon could see that he hadn’t learned the first rule of fighting: never retreat, always go in aggressively; when fists might begin to fly, don’t step back, but go in close.

Drogo stood clenching and unclenching his fists. ‘I didn’t harm that girl.’

‘We already know that Ivo saw the Reeve there. Perhaps someone else did too,’ Simon said. ‘And seeing that, later realised that they had a perfect grave. First, who could have hated Ansel enough to kill him?’

‘How would you feel about a bent official like him?’ Drogo sneered. ‘He was the dregs, the bastard. I’ve vomited more powerful stuff than him, the pus-filled bag of wind.’

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look, and seeing it, Drogo suddenly realised his peril. ‘Of course I didn’t like him, but that’s not the same as murdering him! I knew he was going. Why should I kill him?’