Michael JECKS: Crediton Killings

“Oh, yes.”

“Uhn… thanks,” said Cole, feeling that some response was required.

Glancing round cautiously, Henry leaned nearer. “So why did you want to get away?”

“Eh?”

“Why did you want to get away? Everyone has a reason. I had to run because I killed a man – in a fair fight, you understand, but the hue was raised after me.”

“And I had to get away because my master’s wife fancied me. I was apprenticed to a smith, and when I rejected her, she told him I’d put my hands up her skirt and tried to tempt her into my bed. I had to get away before he could catch me. He was going to kill me,” John added in an aggrieved tone. “With an axe.”

“So what made you want to run? We all tell each other everything here. There’s no need to be shy.” Henry smiled encouragingly.

“I… I was to become a father.”

“Ah.” Henry winked knowingly.

“And I did not wish to marry.”

“A girl from your own village, I expect. Where was that? Are you from round here?”

“No. I come from north and east of here, a short way from Exeter – a village called Thorverton.”

“Ah yes. Is it far from here?” asked Henry.

Cole shot him a glance, wondering if his story was being checked. Before he could respond, though, the rat-faced one nudged him, pointing with a chicken bone.

“Well, if you want to try some of the women here, just make sure you don’t touch her.”

He followed the line of the bone. Sarra was laughing at a remark made by the smiling knight. “She’s his, is she?”

Henry’s voice was somber. “There’s one thing you must learn quickly, Philip. Our master is a good warrior and leader, but he won’t have anyone messing with his belongings. It doesn’t matter if it’s his money, horses, or women. If he finds someone near any of them he’s likely to reach for his knife. No, I’d leave her alone until he tires of her. He always does, sooner or later.”

“You stay with us. We remember what it’s like to be new, that’s why Sir Hector usually asks us to look after the recruits. He knows we’ll show them all the ropes.”

“Yes. For instance, your purse looks quite full. There’re some would try to take it, just to see what’s inside.”

“There’s only money in it,” Cole said easily.

“God’s blood! Well, don’t tell any of the others!” Henry whispered urgently, and sat back, perplexed. “There are men here who’d cut your throat just for thinking you had something there. If you don’t go carefully, you’ll get yourself hurt.”

“He’s right, you know,” John muttered darkly, eyes flitting over the other figures in the hall. “Some of the men here, they can’t be trusted. They’d sell their wives – some of them probably have – for a purse like yours. I reckon you’d best stick with us, let us look after you for a bit.”

“Yes. I mean, where you came from, Thorverton way, I expect you never had to worry about thieves or murderers, did you? When you left your girl… what was her name?” Henry asked, but his mind was fixed on the purse. If Cole was a mere peasant from a small village, he could not have collected so much money.

“Who?”

“Your woman. The one you left home for.”

“Oh.” He wavered a moment. “Anne. Anne Fraunceys.”

Henry did not miss the slight hesitation, and his grin broadened. It pointed to invention, and if that part of the story was invented there was sure to be a better secret, a more valuable one, behind this young man’s decision to join the company. Henry intended to root it out, but he could already guess that there was a theft at the bottom of it. A runaway farmer would not legally be able to get his hands on enough money to make a wallet the size of his bulge so attractively.

“Well, when you left your Anne, you were just a free man with little fear of the world, weren’t you?” he said genially. “At your home you could walk around without a sword or axe and know you’d be safe, couldn’t you? Here, though, you’re with a troop of men-at-arms, and some of”em are dangerous. You waving a purse under their noses is like showing a dog a bitch on heat. They’ll have to try to take it, see? You stay with us, though. We’ll look after you.“

“Yes. We’ll protect you like you were our own family.” John smiled, displaying his noisome teeth once more.

Cole looked from one to the other, and when they slapped him on the back in a show of good-natured friendship, he smiled back gratefully. A few minutes later he bent to eat, and Henry and John exchanged a look over his back. Slowly, John winked.

Paul, the innkeeper, was unable to sit down in the buttery until well into the night. The cries and laughter had gradually faded as men fell asleep – some, like the captain himself, staggering to individual rooms. Sir Hector had gone at least three hours ago, Paul thought distractedly, wiping his forehead with his towel, so he at least would be asleep by now.

A step behind him heralded the arrival of his wife. “Margery? I thought you’d have gone to bed by now.”

She sank down onto the bench beside him, gazing round the little room with its wreckage of empty barrels, pots and jugs. “I’d better start a new brew tomorrow,” she said tiredly. Her face was gray even in the yellow candlelight, and the lines at either side of her mouth were like slashes in her skin. Even her green tunic and off-white apron hung dispiritedly as if over-fatigued. She pulled her wimple free and scratched her hair loose.

He put out a hand and touched her arm. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get some of them to move, but at least they’ve not caused any trouble. There’s not been any fighting or anything.”

“What of the other guests? What happened to them?”

“They’ve all decided to go. The goldsmith and his apprentice were first, then the burgess from Bath, then the merchant and his family… They all found they had important business elsewhere and had to move on – always shortly after one of the captain’s men had spoken to them. I suppose we should be grateful no one was hurt. There was no violence.”

In answer she shrugged, a tiny gesture of exhaustion. “No, and they’ve done little damage – just some broken jugs, and they can soon be replaced. Let’s hope they’ll be gone tomorrow.”

“I don’t know about that. I heard one of them talking earlier, and he was saying they might stay for a few nights more.”

“I hope not!”

He could sympathize with her hostility. They were used to quieter guests: merchants, clerics and burgesses. It was rare for them to have more than ten staying at the inn, and a group of thirty, all men-at-arms, was unheard of. The money would be welcome, if they did not argue too much about the charge but, as Paul knew, this kind of client was all too likely to balk at the real cost of the stay. Soldiers were prone to preying on the fears of peaceable folk to try to force large discounts. Paul sighed; he would have to add a goodly portion to the amount they had drunk so that he could haggle over the final reckoning. Otherwise he would end up subsidizing their stay, and that was something he could ill-afford.

His wife’s mind was on the same problem. “It’s not just the food and drink, is it? We’ve got the fodder for their horses to buy in as well. What if they refuse to pay enough?”

“We’ll have to see,” he said comfortingly, patting her knee.

She smiled, but then her face hardened. “You know where Sarra’s gone?”

“Sarra?” He could not meet her gaze.

“With him,” she said. “With their captain. She’s gone to his chamber with him.”

Paul sighed. “She’s old enough to know what she’s doing, Margery.”

“Old enough? She may be old enough, but she obviously doesn’t realize!” his wife said hotly. “You know how hopeless she is: her head’s up in the clouds most of the time. And what about him? You know as well as I do what sort of man he is. He’s just taking advantage of her, and she’ll get nothing from him.”