Michael JECKS - The Merchant’s Partner

The knight dropped from his horse and glanced up at Simon, then over at Hugh, who sat glowering with a face like thunder. When he turned to the woman, Baldwin was laughing. “No, it’s no trouble, apart from having a fit of the vapours!” He strode forward, “I am Baldwin Furnshill. Can we speak to you?”

At her nod, Simon leapt down, threw his reins to Hugh and told him to wait with the horses. She led them inside, sending the children away to play.

It was sparsely furnished, but welcoming and homely. There was a large table, benches, and chairs at one end, and at the other was a huge chimney and hearth, now filled with logs and roaring. Motioning towards the flames, Jennie Miller said, “My husband isn’t here right now, he’s woodcutting. If you want him, you’re welcome to wait by the fire…” Her voice trailed off inquiringly.

Taking a seat at the fire, Baldwin sat and smiled. “No, it was you we wished to see.”

“Me?” Her eyes seemed huge, but not from fear, only amusement. This was no mindless peasant, Baldwin thought to himself, this was a quick-witted and intelligent woman. She was also clearly not afraid.

“It’s about the death of Agatha Kyteler,” said Simon as he too dragged a chair to the fire, then sat contemplatively staring at her. “Did you know her?”

She laughed as she sat. “Everyone knew old Agatha! She was always helpful to people who needed her sort of aid.”

“What sort of aid?”

“Anything,” she shrugged. “A salve for a burn or wound, a potion to clear the bowels, a medicine to stop pain – she could give help to almost anyone. She was very clever.”

The bailiff peered at her. “You know what the people say about her? That she was a…”

“A witch?” She laughed. “Oh, yes, some said so. Why? Do you believe that?”

From his side Simon heard a low chuckle. He subsided back into his seat and left the knight to the questioning, faintly offended by his friend’s amusement. It was not surprising that he should believe, after all. He was not credulous, but everyone knew that the Devil was all round, trying to win over the forces of good and subvert them. Shrugging, he watched the woman as Baldwin began to question her.

“You didn’t think she was a witch?”

“No,” she said dismissively. “That was only a rumour. Old Grisel wanted to blame her bad luck on someone else. Bad luck happens. When we lose a sack of corn to weevils we don’t say someone put a curse on us. It just happens. When something steals chickens, there’s no reason to assume that it must be because of a witch. It was probably a fox!”

“But you said she was good with herbs and making medicines. Is that why people were prepared to think it was her, do you think?”

“Yes, I think so. She was very skilled, she knew all about different plants. That doesn’t mean she was a witch, though, and after all, everyone was happy to take advantage of her knowledge when they needed her.”

Baldwin nodded thoughtfully, and Simon was sure he was thinking of Sam Cottey, the man who denounced the old woman as a witch but still used her poultice when he hurt his arm.

“When we spoke to Grisel Oatway, she said that she saw you there, at Kyteler’s house, on the day she died. Tuesday. Why were you there?”

“Tuesday? Yes, I was there. I went to speak to her about my pains. Last time I was with child she helped with the sickness and cramps. I wanted to see her about some more herbs, like the ones she gave me before.” Seeing the knight’s raised eyebrows, she giggled. “Yes, I’m carrying a baby again.”

“Oh… Fine, well…” To Simon’s amusement, he saw that it was the knight’s turn to be embarrassed. “I see. You did see her?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I was there early in the afternoon.”

“Do you know when?”

“Not really. About two hours after noon, maybe.”

“How was she?”

“She was fine. A bit tired, I think. She used to spend so much time out collecting plants, and I think it was getting to be a bit too much, really.”

Simon cleared his throat and leaned forward. “You seem to be one of the very few people who knew her, like Sarah Cottey, but no one seems very sad that she’s been killed.”

“Why should we be sad? The poor old woman never tried to make friends here.”

A picture came into mind of the Kyteler cottage, fresh painted, with a new roof. “The house was well-looked-after. She was surely too old to paint and thatch – who did that for her?”

Jennie Miller smiled knowingly. “She wasn’t stupid,” she said, and her voice seemed to imply that she was not certain that the same could be said for Simon. “Whenever someone went to her, they had to pay in some way. She was not anxious for money, she had little need for it. No – she asked for things that were useful. If someone needed her help, they had to help her.”

“How long were you with her on the day she died?” asked Baldwin.

“How long? About an hour. Maybe a little more. I don’t know. Sarah might be able to help, she was there just as I left.”

“Do you know why she was there?”

“I think you should ask her that, don’t you?”

Baldwin studied her with a small frown, but slowly began to nod his head. “Perhaps we should,” he agreed.

“Grisel Oatway said you and Sarah were still there when she arrived?”

“Yes. I waited until Sarah had finished. She’s an old friend, and I wanted to speak to her. We started to walk up the lane towards the village…”

“How long was she with Agatha? When roughly did you leave?”

“Oh… She was there maybe a half-hour. Anyway, that’s when Grisel came rushing down towards the cottage. She was mad! Another of her chickens had been taken.”

“She was mad? Mad enough to…?”

“If you’re going to ask me whether she was mad enough to kill, I’m not saying yes or no,” Jennie Miller said tartly. “How could I say? She was furious, certainly, she could hardly talk without spitting. When she got to the cottage we could hear her voice clearly, shrieking at poor old Agatha while we walked back.”

“You didn’t go to help?”

“Help who? Would you have gone to separate two strong old women like them? I’d think even a knight could be nervous of doing that!”

“Yes,” Baldwin said, with a sudden smile. “You may well be right.”

“When you left, did you see anyone else on your way home?” asked Simon.

“Anyone else?” she paused, then spoke more quietly, “I thought I did, but Sarah didn’t.“

Leaning forward, both men kept silent as they waited.

“Back towards the road, I could swear that I saw a woman slipping off the track and into the trees as we came close.”

“Who?” Simon felt as though they were getting closer to the details now, nearer to an understanding of what had happened.

“I don’t know,” she said, glancing at him with a sympathetic smile, seeing his near despair. “It was dark there under the trees like I say. It was a woman, I think, but she was wearing dark clothes. Both cloak and tunic‘

“And Sarah didn’t see her?” he persisted.

“Ask her, but I don’t think she did. She would have said. I didn’t mention it because I wasn’t sure myself.”

“Do you know of anyone who hated her enough to want to kill her?” Baldwin asked.

She screwed her face into a cynical wince. “It’s hardly the sort of thing people are going to talk about in the lane, is it? No, I’ve never heard anyone talk about murdering her.”

“Not Grisel Oatway, for example?”

“No.”

He sighed and gazed into the fire for a moment. Looking up, he caught a thoughtful glance from her.

“There is something else.”

“No,” she said, but she looked troubled.