Michael JECKS - The Crediton Killings

For all his chubbiness, the man had remarkably nimble fingers, long and narrow, and as he spoke, he toyed with the measuring string which dangled from his neck, pulling and squeezing the knots which he used for measuring like a woman playing with the beads of her necklace.

“Sir Baldwin, Godspeed. Hello, Edgar. How can I help you both?” Fletcher asked, his voice at its most servile as he looked from one to the other. “Is it something rare you are…”

“Just listen to my master and answer his questions,” Edgar interjected, and Baldwin decided that henceforth he would take more interest in any illegitimate children in the area. It appeared likely that he might be able to find their father not too far from his own home.

Baldwin enjoyed the amused surprise on the man’s face and the urgent flush on Edgar’s before smiling and saying, “You must have heard of the death of the girl at the inn?”

“Poor Sarra? Oh, yes. Very sad. A great shame. Such a nice girl, I always thought.”

“Did you see her often?”

The bright eyes dimmed a little. His eyelids had drooped, and Baldwin could see that he was assessing whether he was in any danger. It was all too common for an innocent man to be put on trial, and with ill-educated people on juries, many assumed a man accused must be guilty. It was better to be careful and ensure one was not arrested in the first place. Fletcher considered, and said, “Only occasionally.”

“She came here for her clothing?”

“Sometimes.”

“I do not think you had anything to do with her death, but I wanted to know whether she bought any of this from you recently.” Baldwin passed over the fragment of material.

“This?” Fletcher smiled and shook his head incisively. “Definitely not. Have you any idea how much this costs? No, Sarra, when she came here, mainly came just to look. She never had any money, and she already had a couple of tunics anyway. Why would she spend good money to get another? She wasn’t a lady of importance.”

The man’s casual attitude toward the girl’s death irritated the knight, and his voice took on an abrasive edge. “She may not have been a ”lady of importance,“ as you put it, but she did not deserve to be murdered, either. Is there anyone else in Crediton who might have sold her cloth like this – or a tunic made from this cloth?”

“No, sir. There is nobody else in the town who could have sold such material. I had it brought here all the way from Lincoln. It is too fine for the weavers here, no matter what they say, and look at the color! Could anybody think it could be produced here? Cloth like this is only made by the Flemings, and you have to search even among them for this quality if…”

“Yes, yes, yes. All right, you have made your point. In that case, who have you sold cloth like this to? How could Sarra have got hold of a tunic like this?”

“I don’t know how she got it, but I have sold one tunic. To Sir Hector, who’s staying at the inn.”

“Did he say whom it was for?”

“No, sir. Perhaps he bought it for Sarra. I understand he liked her.”

“Where did you hear that?”

The shopkeeper’s smile broadened. “Here. I have many women come here for their wimples and so on, and as soon as Sir Hector and his men arrived, the gossip increased tenfold. Everyone knows how taken he was with poor Sarra at first – until they had their quarrel, anyway.”

“What quarrel?” Baldwin was not keen on inane chatter, but he knew how sometimes elements of the truth could intrude even into the malicious chitchat of an alewife.

“Sir Hector, on the day before she died, suddenly threw Sarra out and ordered her not to bother him again. He had lost interest in her.”

“Who told you this?”

“A friend of Margery – that is, Paul the innkeeper’s wife. She heard him shouting at Sarra. He said he had found a real woman, and didn’t need a cheap tavern slut any more.”

“Who did he mean?”

“Who knows? Perhaps you should ask him…”

Walking back, the men were quiet. Baldwin was sunk in gloom, wondering whether he would ever understand what was happening, while his servant was trying to hide his relief at leaving Fletcher’s shop. Hugh meandered behind, as stolidly uncommunicative as usual.

The bailiff shoved his hands into his belt. They were walking up the hill now, and it was harder to push their way through the crowds teeming the roadway. The items on sale changed as they progressed toward the town center. Fish were laid out on trestles, their eyes dull, mouths gaping wide as if still straining for water, while others lay, their colors dim, in barrels alongside. The bakers were next, with loaves and rolls of bread arranged in sweet-smelling piles, ranging from good melchet, made from sieved flour to give it its pale cream color, to less fine cockets, and low-grade brown loaves made from maslin, a wheat and rye mixture for the poorer people. As they approached the shambles where the butchers had their stalls, they came to the cordwainers, with the new shoes on show. Nearby cobblers plied their trade, mending old boots. The smells increased as they came close to the tanners, who took the skins from the butchers and produced rough, dried leather which they sold to the curriers to be smoothed and shaved to an even thickness before oiling it ready for crafting. Gloves, purses, leather bottles and boxes, with patterns carved or painted on them, stood to demonstrate the skills of the craftsmen.

Simon barely gave the goods a glance, ignoring both the stallholders’ cries and the young children trying to attract his attention by dragging on his cloak. The sights and sounds were familiar, and he had no wish to purchase anything.

As they came to the church, his eye lighted on a slim figure waiting at Peter’s door. She turned as the four approached – it was the woman in gray.

Giving money to the poor was an important responsibility of the wealthy, and all rich men tended to provide for those less well-off in the parish. The church had an almoner whose duty it was to see to the well-being of those who could not earn their own living. For, while it was right that those who were too lazy to work should be punished, all accepted that if a man was injured and incapable of looking after himself and his family, or if a man were to die and leave his woman and children without support, it was only right that a Christian community should aid them.

As he watched, the almoner passed the woman some bread and meats. Peter, he knew, had always provided well for beggars. At his table, before food was passed even to guests, bread and other foods were put in a bowl “to serve God first.” The almoner saved it to give to those who had most need. The woman held the gift in her apron, walking round to the site of the new church, and there Simon saw her kneel. Her child appeared from playing near a scaffold, and they ate with no sign of pleasure, only a kind of desperate haste, peering round as if fearing that if they did not consume it as quickly as possible, someone might take it from them.

“Simon, look – our friend,” Baldwin murmured, nodding ahead. Following his gaze, Simon saw the captain.

Sir Hector stood with his back to them, near the entrance to the church. Every now and again he would peer at the inn, then round at the trees, as if measuring the time by the shadows, or searching for someone who could be hiding behind one of the heavy trunks. Simon looked up and down the street. “Is he out here on his own?”

“For a mercenary captain to let himself be separated from all his men shows a distinct lack of foresight,” said Baldwin. “I suppose here in England he feels that it is safe enough. In Gascony or France he would not be so foolhardy, not with all the enemies he has there.”