Michael JECKS - The Crediton Killings

“Perhaps one of her more appreciative clients gave her the tunic, then.”

“Could be. Poor lass. Always wanted money and marriage, and just when she got the kind of tunic she always craved, she gets herself killed.”

“Was she keen to get money, then?” asked Simon.

“Oh, yes. She saw all her friends working themselves into the ground, and she was determined to be free, to have a husband who had money, so she wouldn’t have to work any more.”

“Do you know if she was friendly with Cole?”

“Him? No, not at all. I saw them only yesterday, arguing.”

“What about?”

“Something to do with Henry and John. I don’t know what.”

Simon picked up a large twig and toyed with it thoughtfully. “And she was succeeding with Sir Hector.”

“On the first night. Not after that.”

“What happened?” Simon’s ears pricked up.

“Didn’t you hear? Oh, they argued. They woke up Margery, and I was really furious. It was the first proper sleep she’d had since they got here, and then just as she dropped off, there was all that shouting, and doors slamming and so on, and…”

“When was this?”

“On the day she died. She had gone to the captain during the first night, but the next afternoon, he had dropped her like a hot brick. Then yesterday they had a row!”

“What happened? Where were you, for example, when you heard them?”

“Me?” he said, his eyes opening a little at Simon’s obvious eagerness. “Oh, I was out in the buttery, filling jugs. Cristine came through and told me something was going on, but I decided to ignore it. The last thing I’d do is stand between two soldiers in a fight – they’d probably turn on me! No, it wasn’t until Margery came and told me it was him and Sarra, and how much row they were making, that I decided to go and speak to them.”

“How was she? Worried? Nervous?”

“My wife? No, just irritated to be woken up, and it made her cross with me for letting them carry on. I went through the hall, and I could hear doors slamming as I got in…”

“Where? Were these doors out at the back, where Sir Hector had his room?” Simon queried.

Paul stared, forcing his mind back. “One was, I think. But the other was out at the back. It was probably the door to her room.”

“That’s over there?” Baldwin confirmed, jerking his head toward the block across the yard.

“Yes. Anyway, I went into the hall, and a few minutes later Sir Hector came out. He apologized, said that she had annoyed him, and that was that.”

“Did he say how she had irritated him?” Baldwin said.

“Not really, no,” frowned the innkeeper. “He said she had gone on about something to do with one of his men, saying Sir Hector was in danger, something along those lines.”

“Which of his men?”

“I really don’t…”

“Think, Paul! This could have something to do with why Sarra’s dead.”

The innkeeper recalled how he had gone to the door of Sir Hector’s bedchamber, but before he could open it, the captain had emerged, shaking with rage, his face mottled. Seeing Paul he had spoken with fearsome control, as if each word was weighed carefully. “That strumpet Sarra has had the goodness to warn me that my men are plotting against me. Me! As if I were a puny baron! I’ve told her to leave my sight and not return, and I’d be grateful if you would make sure she does not come near to me again while I stay here.”

Paul had nodded in astonishment, and turned to go, but he had heard the knight mutter one more word under his breath “Henry!”

As he told the others, Simon rolled his eyes skyward in disbelief while Baldwin closed his. Edgar winced.

Hugh looked from one to the other. “What’s the matter?”

“So let me understand this, Sir Baldwin. You are accusing me of stealing my own silver and murdering a serving-girl, is that right?”

Baldwin sighed. He had known that speaking to Sir Hector again would be difficult, but he had hoped to explain himself before the captain flew off the handle. “I am not accusing you of anything, Sir Hector, but we have been told that you had an argument with Sarra on the afternoon when she died, and it might help us to find her killer if we know what you argued about.” He dropped into a chair.

They were once more in the hall. Thankfully most of the mercenaries were outside. Only a few men sat nearby to protect their master. Simon lounged against a wall, idly swinging his twig. Roger was beside him, his arms crossed as he listened. The servants had remained outside at the bench.

“What has this to do with finding my silver?”

“Did you argue with her?” Baldwin continued doggedly.

“What if I did?”

“If you did, what was it about?”

“She had a stupid notion that some of the men were planning to mutiny, that’s all.”

“Who?”

“What has this got to do with…”

“Sir Hector, I am trying to the best of my ability and skill…”

“Which is limited.”

“Perhaps. But I am trying to find out where your silver is and who killed Sarra.”

“Then go and demand the truth of Cole. He must have done both,” Sir Hector suggested with exasperation.

Simon drew his dagger and began shaving flakes from his stick. “If we question him, he could lie, especially if we were to use any force to get him to confess. He might have an accomplice, in which case even if Cole knew where it was stored, the silver might already have been moved. Cole might not know where it is now. Far better if we learn a little more about everything which happened yesterday, so we know when he lies.”

Sir Hector eyed him with distaste. “If you are incapable of persuading him to tell you the truth, you don’t know how to ask. If he has an accomplice, make him tell you who it is. You’ll soon find out where my plate is stored when you have both of them locked up, and if you don’t I can lend you men who know how to extract such facts from recalcitrant captives.”

“That will not be necessary,” Baldwin said sharply. His friends and colleagues had been tortured when the Knights Templar were destroyed by the French King, and the sight of their twisted, agonized bodies had persuaded him forever that torture was no assistance in an enquiry. Torture only made people answer what they thought their questioners wanted to hear; it did not force them to give the truth. “But it is important that we understand what happened yesterday. I cannot believe that you are trying to hide something, Sir Hector, but your refusal to answer what seems to me to be a very simple question must make me wonder what motivates your reticence.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No. But I will not be trying to discover what happened to your silver until I feel I have your cooperation.”

“Then perhaps I should investigate the matter myself, with my men.”

“I think,” Simon interrupted, taking on a judicial air, “that would not be useful.”

“Really? Well, I am beginning to think it might be the only way of learning what happened to my plate.”

“What of the girl? You argued with her, threw her out, told everyone to keep her away from you, and then she is found dead in your room,” Baldwin thundered.

“It has nothing to do with this.”

“God’s teeth! We will judge that, not you! I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace for this town, and you are deliberately hampering my investigation. Are you aware that you are, so far, the only person we have found who has argued with her? That makes you the only man with a motive to kill her!” Baldwin paused. “Now – was it Henry whom Sarra warned you of?”

Simon looked at his friend. The knight’s outburst surprised him, for he had known Baldwin to remain calm under vastly more irritating meetings than this.