Michael JECKS - The Abbot's Gibbet

Holcroft led the way. He walked quickly, but Simon could see that he was observing the people and wares on offer as he went, and the bailiff was impressed by his dedication. The man obviously took his responsibilities seriously, and was always on the lookout for an infringement of the fair’s rules.

Elias saw Holcroft appear and groaned to himself. He had been about to leave for a few minutes, to go and duck his head in the water trough in the cattle pens. His skull was a thick, dense boil of pain and he longed to lance it. With the blazing sun overhead being reflected from white tunics and bright awnings, he had to squint to try to lessen the agony.

“Hello, David,” he said, trying to sound cheery. “How are you today?”

“I’ll be better when I’ve got your money.”

“My money? But why’s that?”

“You know why. I warned you about the garbage.”

“Oh. Well, I tried to get it cleared, but you’ve got no idea how long it took. I wheeled ten loads over to the midden and then…”

“Quiet, Elias,” Holcroft rasped. “I’ll get the beadle to collect the money next week. I don’t care what your excuses are. Especially since…”

Baldwin smoothly interrupted him before he could give away any details of the dead body, pointing to a pie and asking, “What is in that one?”

Holcroft subsided while the cook reached over and picked up the golden crust and eulogized its filling of goose and ham.

“It sounds very good. I might take one. First, though…”

This time it was Baldwin’s turn to be interrupted. A heavy-set watchman broke through the crowd and went to the port-reeve. “There’s a deal being arranged between the King’s official and a horse-dealer. You’re needed to witness it.”

“Oh, God’s blood!” Holcroft muttered. As port-reeve, it was his duty to validate any large transactions. There were heavy fines for a trader who did not have him witness their business, for the Abbey’s portion depended on the port-reeve’s mark on the papers.

He threw a harassed look at Baldwin, who said understandingly, “Leave it to us. We can let you know what is happening later.”

The port-reeve nodded, his eyes going from Simon to Baldwin, while the watchman tapped his sword hilt irritably, then looked at Elias. “You tell these gentlemen the truth, Elias. They’re here on the Abbot’s authority. If I hear you’ve been talking rubbish, I’ll come and check all your stock for weights, understand? And for every pie that’s under you’ll get a day in the pillory.”

His mouth wide open with dismay, Elias stared as the port-reeve marched off with the watchman close behind. “What was that all about?”

“Elias, you have the shop next to Will Ruby’s, don’t you?”

The cook shut his mouth with a snap. Baldwin could see he was nervous, and his hands shook with the occasional twitch of the heavy drinker. That, the knight thought, would explain his pale complexion. Baldwin did not drink to excess, and held little regard for those who did. They were invariably foolish or stupid, to his mind. In his experience only those who had lived through a severe shock or those who were weak in spirit would resort to drinking excessively. Elias looked a rather pathetic creature, the kind to crumble at the first blow of fate. His face was skinny and freckled, under an unruly mop of reddish-brown hair. The thin nose and close-set eyes made him appear shifty, and fleshy pink lips gave him an unwholesome appearance as if he was suffering from a disease.

“Where were you last night, Elias?” Baldwin asked.

“Why? Who are you?” he demanded, glancing at Peter as the monk spread paper and began to write.

“I am Baldwin Furnshill, Keeper of the King’s Peace in Crediton, and this is Simon Puttock, bailiff of Lydford Castle. The Abbot has asked us to investigate a murder. Where were you last night?”

“I was here.”

“Where were you before that, Elias?”

“It took ages to get all this ready.”

“I see. Let me tell you where you were, then. You were at the tavern near your shop, weren’t you?”

“If you know, why ask?”

Simon grated, “Elias, we’re working for the Abbot, trying to get to the bottom of a killing.”

He sulkily looked from one to the other. “All right,” he said ungraciously. “I was at the tavern.”

“That’s better. Who else was there?” said Baldwin.

Elias winced as a sharp pain stabbed at his temple. He sat on his barrel and screwed his eyes into slits as he stared up at the Keeper. “It was the start of the fair – there was loads in there.”

“Whom did you recognize, Elias?” Baldwin asked less gently.

“Several of them: the port-reeve himself was there later. Four watchmen from Denbury were all sitting at a table; the one who came for David just now was one of them. Torre, from Ashburton way, he was there, and a merchant with his wife and daughter. Oh, and three men with a monk guiding them, though they didn’t stay. I’d never seen them before.”

“What did they look like?” Baldwin asked.

He shrugged. All visiting merchants looked the same to him. He began repositioning some of his pies and meats. “They were here – you only just missed them. I reckon they’re father and son. They look sort of similar.”

“The man you were sitting with,” Baldwin said, watching the cook’s face closely. “Who was he?”

“Sorry?”

There was a note of uncertainty in his voice that caught Baldwin’s interest. “In the tavern you were sitting with a man for a goodly time. You had many drinks with him. Later you left the tavern with him. Who was he?”

“No one… It was just someone who came up to me and wanted to talk.”

“You left the tavern together, so where did you go?” Simon pressed.

“We didn’t go anywhere. He happened to leave the place just as I was going out to the privy, that’s all.”

Baldwin stared at him, and Elias’ eyes dropped. “He is dead. Murdered.”

The cook dropped a pie. He stared at the knight with his mouth open in shock. “No! He… he can’t be!”

Simon watched him, puzzled. Elias had not been surprised to hear that there had been a murder, but his shock on hearing about his companion was surely unfeigned.

“You spent the evening with a man in a red leather jerkin, and left the tavern with him. And now we find a man in a red leather jerkin has been murdered and hidden in your rubbish. So who was he?”

Elias retreated under the blast of the knight’s sudden bellow. “Sir, I…” Elias shivered. This questioning was confusing him, and he regretted the ales he had drunk the night before. The two men standing so aggressively before him, the one dark and angry, the scar on his cheek shining, the younger one, the bailiff, a sinister grin on his face as he watched Elias squirm, both made him fear for his freedom.

But he had no idea how to escape from them. He felt like a rabbit caught in a snare: he could try to pull away, but only at the risk of harming Jordan. Yet if he were to stay silent without an attempt at protecting himself, he might get arrested.

It was obvious that someone would have seen him leaving, but how could he have known that the body would be so quickly discovered, and that he would be linked to Jordan so easily? He shook his head, trying to clear it from the fog that thickened his brain. It was impossible to tell them the truth. That way led to ruin. An escape occurred to him. “Sir, I don’t know who he was.”

“You’re lying,” Simon said. “We already know he asked for you. You expect us to believe that he knew you, yet you knew nothing of him?”

“It’s the truth,” Elias protested stubbornly.

“No,” said Baldwin shortly. “It is not true. You knew him.” Elias shook his head. To Baldwin he looked as determined as a mule. On a whim the knight lowered his tone. “Why should a man stab his victim and then cut off his head?”