Michael JECKS - The Merchant’s Partner

“Are you Sarah Cottey?” he asked, and she rose to her feet, wiping her hands on the front of her tunic. The innocent action pulled the cloth taut over her breasts, and Baldwin cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

“Yes, sir,” she answered with a smile, seeming to notice his glance and subsequent embarrassment. She wiped her hands again as if taunting him.

“Er… Is your father here?”

She motioned to the road behind them. “No, he’s over at my aunt’s farm in Sandford. But he will be back soon, will you wait here?”

Simon exchanged a glance with Baldwin and, when he nodded, dropped from his horse, lashing the reins to a post nearby. “Thank you. Yes, we will wait.”

She asked if they wanted to sit inside by the fire, but to Simon’s surprise, Baldwin seemed happy enough to stand outside in the cold, talking by the door. Unknown to him, the knight remembered the smells from the Oatways’ house.

“Do you know the dog? He seems happy enough to see you.”

“Oh, yes. It’s old Agatha’s, isn’t it? I always used to make a fuss of him when I saw him. Isn’t it sad about her, though? My poor father, he was so upset afterwards, I thought he would never calm himself.”

“Why? Was he a friend of hers?” asked Simon.

“Friend?” She looked at him with faint surprise, as if the suggestion was one she would not have expected. “No, of course not. No, he thinks she was a witch. Even just finding her, he was scared she could come back and haunt him if he treated her wrongly.”

“Haunt him? Why should she want to?”

“Well, you know how these things are. People round here are worried if someone’s a bit different. They feel anxious if someone new arrives in the village, and Agatha was different. He thinks she might come back as a ghost.”

“How? In what way was she different?”

“In what way? She came from a land far away, so she used to say, from the kingdom of Jerusalem, and had a knowledge of herbs and roots. If someone was hurt, they’d go to her, and she could often help, even if it was only by stopping their pain for a short time.”

“She was a midwife too, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” she bridled slightly, as if nervous, or perhaps shy, and her cheeks’ natural ruddiness deepened. “Yes, she was known for that. She was very clever.”

Just then they all heard the rattle and clatter of a wagon and, looking up, they soon saw the old farmer sitting on his cart. His dog leapt from the back of the wagon and walked slow and stiff towards Baldwin’s adopted friend, but they knew each other and were soon engaged in a companionable chase.

Samuel Cottey appeared unsurprised at the presence of his visitors, and he nodded at them both before springing lightly from the seat and beginning to see to the mule. While Simon and Baldwin waited, Sarah disappeared inside and soon came out again with a mug of warmed ale for her father. Taking it, he smiled at her, his face creasing into familiar wrinkles before tilting it and drinking deeply.

“So… What do you want, sirs?” he asked equably as he finished and wandered over to the men at his door.

“We had a few questions to ask about how you found the woman yesterday,” said Baldwin by way of explanation. As he spoke, the farmer’s daughter appeared again by the door, holding two pint mugs of ale for them. Smiling thankfully, Simon took both from her and passed one to Baldwin, but she hardly noticed his gratitude. She was staring at the knight as he spoke to her father, and looked pale, as if she was worried about something.

“First, can you tell us exactly how you found her? You can’t have seen the body from the road.”

“No, I didn’t,” said the farmer. His eyes were downcast, but then they rose to the knight’s face, and Baldwin saw the defiance in them, as if the old man knew that he should not be scared of the dead woman, but was still not afraid to admit his fear. He quickly explained how his dog had wandered and found her body. “Daft bugger never was a sheep worrier. No, but he had found the old witch…”

“She wasn’t a witch!” The hot defence came swiftly from the girl, surprising Baldwin.

“No, I don’t think she was,” he said gently, but then turned back to the farmer. “Then?”

“I…” His eyes became reflective as he thought. “I pulled her up a bit – she was so cold she couldn’t be alive – so I lifted her a little to see who it was. I couldn’t see from the way she was lying there, so I had to lift her by the shoulder. Well, when I saw who it was, I had to drop her, it was such a shock.”

“Yes, yes. What then? You saw who it was, you saw how she’d died, what did you do then?”

“I buggered off! She was a witch.” He glared at his daughter. “Everyone knows that. So I left her there and went up to the Greencliff place.”

“Greencliff was there?”

“Oh, yes. He was there all right.”

“How do you mean?”

“He was just out to see his sheep, he said. He was just getting ready to go.”

“So he was dressed and ready? What time would that have been, do you think?”

“What time?” The farmer stared at him, then gazed at the view for a moment. Talking slowly and pensively, he said, “It was still dark, but I think the light was just starting… I don’t know, really… I think it was around dawn, just before, not after…”

“But he was dressed and ready to go out?” Simon said, and the farmer turned to him and peered at his face.

“Yes, he was about to go out. He already had his cloak on, that bright red one. Why? Why does it matter?”

“The innkeeper said that he had made some comment about the woman on the day she died, something about her doing something. Greencliff said that if Kyteler wasn’t careful, someone would do something to her. We think he might have killed her.”

“That’s mad!” Sarah’s sudden interruption made them all turn in astonishment. “Harry wouldn’t do anything like that. He’s a good man, kind and gentle. He wouldn’t kill like that – especially not an old woman.”

“Be quiet, girl!” The old farmer’s voice was harsh and thick, his face stiff in his anger at being interrupted.

“No, wait!” Baldwin’s order made Sam Cottey fall back, as if the quick fury had exhausted him. “Now, Sarah,” he said more quietly: “why do you think that?”

Glancing briefly at her father, she paused, but then decided that, having come so far, she should continue. “Because I know him. He’s not cruel, he couldn’t kill someone like that.”

“The innkeeper seemed sure.”

“He’s wrong. Harold wouldn’t kill an old woman like that, cutting her throat. He’s too gentle.”

Baldwin’s eyes held hers for a moment, and then her gaze fell, and Simon was sure he could see the embarrassment there in the way that her face suddenly reddened.

“Perhaps,” said the knight softly. Looking back at the farmer, he said, “Cottey, what would you say about that? Would you expect Greencliff to be able to kill an old woman in that way?”

“Not an old woman, no.” Then his voice became bitter again. “But a witch? I should think he could have killed her and been glad! He might think it was a service – a Godly act – to kill the old bitch!”

Leading their horses from the house, Baldwin stopped for a moment and scratched at his head with a speculative grimace. “What do you think?”

Simon paused. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think she’s as convinced it couldn’t be Greencliff as her father is that Kyteler was a witch. Maybe…” He was cut off by running feet crunching on the soft snow.

“Sirs, sirs! Wait a minute!” It was Sarah again, rushing along the track with her skirts held high in her hands, giving Baldwin a glimpse of her legs.