Michael JECKS - The Crediton Killings

“That wasn’t what I was thinking,” Baldwin said mildly.

“Eh?”

“Did you see all Sir Hector’s silver?”

“Yes. He had the whole of the top of the cupboard filled, and a couple of shelves beneath.”

“How could one man carry all of that out? Even if he had a confederate in the yard it would be quite a task, wouldn’t it?”

“I see what you mean. He’d have needed a friend outside and a wagon or something.” Paul looked around. The serving-girl was passing not far away, and she caught his eye. She finished pouring a pot of ale, slapped at a hand which was trying to lift her skirt, and joined them.

Simon glanced at her sourly, then sighed and rubbed his temples; while Baldwin wanted to keep interrogating the innkeeper, he felt duty-bound to remain with his friend, but this endless series of questions was surely irrelevant. The boy had been caught carrying some of the stolen plate, and he was a recent, unknown recruit to the band, with no loyalty or commitment to it. It was plain as a hog in a goldsmith’s that he must have committed the robbery, and tomorrow they would begin to question him about his accomplice. Cole would answer or suffer the penalty. There was no point in this, Simon thought irascibly, and he had to bite back a few choice words.

Cristine looked at them, her cheeks dimpling. It was her duty to remain calm and happy, to make men relax and forget their worries, and she was good at her job. Under her look, she saw the knight shift uncomfortably on his seat, and she concentrated on him. He looked shy, she thought. And rather sweet.

Baldwin coughed. “Cristine, we’re just trying to work out how the missing silver could have been removed from Sir Hector’s room, because with so many men in here all day, no one could have carried it through the hall without being seen. We think someone must have taken it out through the window into the yard.”

Grumpily clearing his throat, Simon said, “There’re other windows in the solar block, Baldwin.”

“Yes, Simon.” Baldwin threw him a quick look. His friend was not as astute today as usual, but allowances should be made for his mood. “But they all give out on to the street, and someone would be sure to remark a man bundling goods through a window. I reckon it must have been out into the yard that the silver went. What do you think, Cristine?”

She gave him a long stare. Cristine was no fool, and though she maintained her vacuous, happy smile, she was thinking quickly. “It would make sense. As you say, nobody could have brought it out through the hall here, not with all these men.”

Simon poured himself some ale from Cristine’s jug. “Why couldn’t this man Cole have brought it all out through here?” he objected. “The men might not have noticed the silver if he concealed it on him; after all, he was one of them.”

“Simon, think how much silver we’re talking about here,” Baldwin said with a degree of asperity. “He’d have had to bring it out piece by piece. Think of the size of the plates we found – only a few at a time could be carried without making him look suspiciously heavy – and what about sudden clanking noises? It would have taken five, or ten, maybe more trips to bring it all out. Three men were needed to carry the chest into the room, and the chest itself wasn’t that heavy, it was the weight of the silver inside. And how would he have explained so many trips to his master’s solar? No, I refuse to believe he could have done it that way.”

“There’s another thing, sir,” Cristine said. At Baldwin’s nod, she continued, “This man, Cole, was new to the group. Those chambers are only for Sir Hector and his closest men. I think if Cole went in there just once he’d be asked what he was doing. These soldiers don’t seem very trusting.”

“A good point, Cristine. So, to return to my idea, did you see anyone waiting outside Sir Hector’s room today? A man with a horse, perhaps? Maybe a wagon?”

“No, sir,” she said, her eyes round. “I went past there many times, and I never noticed anyone. I’d have said if I did.”

“See?” said Simon. His friend ignored him.

“Other rooms behind the hall have windows which look out to the front, don’t they? Cristine, would there be any surprise if someone was spotted waiting in the street with a wagon?”

“Of course. And they’d be told to move, too. The street’s not very wide, is it? If someone sat there waiting, there’d be plenty would tell them to clear off.”

Baldwin was about to ask another question when there was a series of hoarse shouts. Turning, he saw the captain emerge from his rooms, bellowing.

“What is it this time?” groaned Paul.

“Come on, Baldwin,” Simon muttered, levering himself upright with difficulty. “It’s about time we were back at Peter’s…”

“Sir Baldwin!” Sir Hector pointed at them, and Paul the innkeeper felt his earlier premonition of evil return in full force at the sight of the man’s ghastly face. “Sir Baldwin, come here! There’s been a murder.”

Moving urgently, they ducked behind the tapestry into the antechamber at the rear of the hall. The rooms at either side formed a solar for wealthy guests where they could relax in privacy away from the row of revellers at the inn. On the right was Sir Hector’s bedchamber; to their left, storerooms. The captain led them inside one of these; a white-faced servant was waiting for them, gripping three smoking candles in his hand.

“I was looking for some clothes, sir,” he explained to Baldwin. “My master asked me to fetch a fresh shirt, and when I opened the chest, there was a cloak on top, and then this serving girl!” With a trembling hand, he lifted the lid and Baldwin found himself looking down on the still, calmly beautiful face of Sarra.

Simon choked and turned away, stumbling to the window. It was not the sight of death – he was all too used to that – but the oval face with the narrow nose, surrounded by a mass of fair hair looked, at first glance, like his wife. The eyes seemed to stare directly at him, as if in rebuke for his behavior.

Ignoring him, Baldwin studied the chest and noted the details dispassionately. He took in the general layout of the room before concentrating on the body before him.

The storeroom was low-ceilinged, stinking of damp, with a small window overlooking the road. It was ill-lit by the candles grasped by the servant, a darkly suspicious-looking man, with square features and a grizzled beard. In here were placed a number of chests which held some of Sir Hector’s less valuable belongings. Many were open. Baldwin saw clothing, some armor, bolts for a crossbow, wineskins, saddlebags, a helmet… the kind of detritus which accumulates round a warrior after many years of travelling.

The chest was vast. Standing at least three feet high, and four feet long, it was made of wood bound with iron hoops, and held the captain’s clothing. Baldwin leaned forward to study the interior while Simon groaned once more at the sight of the body inside.

Sarra lay twisted, with her arms hidden beneath her. Her knees were bent and turned to one side to allow the lid to close. Her posture was that of a young girl snatching a rest, but she was as lifeless as a rag doll. A strip of green cloth ran tightly from her mouth to the back of her neck, making caverns of her cheeks. Baldwin felt her forehead, but there was no heat. She had been dead some little time. Her breast too was still, with no motion as of breathing, and he sighed: another young life wasted. Feeling a quick anger, he drew his dagger and cut the gag, pulling it away. More cloth projected from inside her mouth, and he gently removed that. Whoever had wished to silence her had made a very competent job of it.