Michael JECKS - The Merchant’s Partner

He stared unseeing past Simon’s shoulder. “But that was the high-spot of our careers. Since then, things have gone from bad to worse. Two years ago we had a bad time when we just couldn’t seem to do anything right. We even had a ship taken by the French: lost the whole cargo. That hurt us. And since then, we’ve had our ship attacked twice and damaged, and lost I don’t know how much money. So you see it’s wrong to think we made all our money from Acre.”

“How did you lose so much? Just bad luck?” asked Baldwin mildly.

The eyes flashed towards the knight. “Luck? I suppose so. We made some unlucky decisions, telling the ship’s master to take this course or that, and then finding a French pirate waiting, but I think most of our problems stem from misfortune of one sort or another.”

“So you don’t believe in witches?”

“That’s rubbish,” he said scornfully. “I know that’s what they say, but it’s not true!”

“That Agatha Kyteler was a witch, you mean?” asked Baldwin.

“Yes. She had nothing to do with us. It was just bad luck.”

“But people thought you were being cursed by her?”

“Some did.”

“Why should they think that?” mused Simon, then, catching a sullen glower from the merchant, his eyes suddenly widened. “She left Acre on your ship, didn’t she!”

“She might – how can I tell? It was years ago!”

“Was it your partner who thought she might have cursed you?”

“He… He can be a little superstitious.”

Baldwin stirred, his spurs tinkling. “She never spoke to you about her escape from Acre?”

“This has nothing to do with her death. I’ll not answer stupid questions.”

“Very well,” said the knight. “But tell me, your partner is Trevellyn, isn’t he? You told us that when we last met.”

“Yes. The business is ours.”

“You have no other partners, but you are in debt to the Italians?”

“Yes.” He gave a sad grin which seemed to offer a glimpse of personal fears. “As I told you before, the business is sailing towards rocky shores. The Italians want their money back.”

Just then they heard feet in the screens and, looking up, saw the son standing before them. Baldwin was surprised at the change in Stephen. Whereas before he had been relatively cock-sure, now he looked chastened and almost shy. Not nervous, Baldwin thought to himself, but certainly not arrogant – or as arrogant as before, anyway, he admitted to himself with a small grin.

It was only when he approached and his face was lighted by the sconces and fluttering candle flames that the knight saw the reason. One side of the youth’s face was a livid bruise with painful-looking yellow and purple edging. Above it, his left eye was marked too, and as Baldwin raised an eyebrow in surprise, he felt sure that the wound must have been inflicted by the boy’s father. What, the knight wondered, had Stephen done to justify a beating?

Looking at the father, he found himself thinking that it could have been anything. The brutish face glared at him, defiant and cruel, as if daring him to make any comment about how his household was organised.

Stephen walked across the room, glancing at Simon but ignoring the silent Edgar, to a low-backed chair. Whereas before he had haughtily held Baldwin’s gaze, today his eyes were cast down like a shy maiden’s. He did not seem to know where to put his hands, either. They rested at first in his lap, then on his knees. Soon he resolutely placed them on the chair’s arms and sat still.

Baldwin smiled faintly. “When we saw you on Thursday, you said that Harold Greencliff had taken a lover. You said she was a married woman.” There was a slight movement of his head, but other than that Baldwin saw no sign that he had heard. “It is difficult for you, I know, but it is possible that she might know something about the death of Agatha Kyteler. We must find out who she is.”

Slowly Stephen’s eyes rose to meet the knight’s. “Like I said, you’d better ask Harry. I cannot betray a confidence. I swore…”

“Very well. I cannot force you. There is something else, though.” He paused, head tilted as he considered the youth. “Why did you lie about being with him all that day, the day that Kyteler died?”

“I… I didn’t lie! How can you suggest that? I…”

“We know that you lied. What I now want to know is the truth. When did you meet him and what did you do together?”

His mouth opened, but then snapped shut as if he thought the better of further blustering. He glanced away for a moment, and when he looked back, Baldwin could see some of his previous pride rising again. “We were together almost all of the time. I met him at the ”Sign of the Moon“ in the afternoon, and we spent most of the rest of the day together. If you want to check, ask the innkeeper, he’ll…”

“We have asked him,” Baldwin said flatly. “He said you met him there at around five, late in the afternoon, and left shortly after, getting back at eight or so. Is that right?”

“I suppose so. I don’t know…”

“Because we have someone who saw him in the road with a horse at about four, maybe just after. That means he could have gone to the house, killed the old woman, and still met you at the inn.”

“But… He’s not a murderer!” The words came softly, almost hesitantly, and Baldwin was sure he was thinking hard about his friend, wondering whether he could have been wrong about him. How hard, the knight thought, to have to doubt an old friend.

“Have you seen him since he was released?”

The question, shot out so fast, took the youth by surprise, and his head nodded before he could stop himself.

“Did he say why he decided to leave the area?”

Stephen hesitated. His eyes held a sudden fear, a hunted look that made Baldwin realise how young he still was. The knight was about to prompt him gently when his father slammed his fist on the bench beside him in rage. “Answer!”

The boy’s eyes shot to his father, and his mouth framed the word “Yes.“ It was so soft that Baldwin could hardly hear it, but at the sound he breathed easier.

“Tell us why, Stephen.”

“It was his woman. She rejected him. He felt that there was nothing here for him anymore. He just decided to go. He was trying to get to a ship, so that he could sail for Normandy or Gascony, but he hardly got anywhere when he was caught. That was all – he swore to me that he had nothing to do with her death! You don’t really think he killed her, do you?”

Baldwin gazed at him with sympathy. There was little doubt now. Whatever else was unknown, they would be able to find out by questioning the youth again. He had little doubt of that. But in the meantime, this friend, who had been so loyal, was bound to be hurt. At the least Greencliff had lied to him, to his best friend, who had kept his secrets even when questioned by the Justice.

Sighing, he stood and motioned to Simon.

“Let’s go and see Greencliff,” he said.

They had only just crossed the threshold when the messenger arrived, a young lad, flushed and panting from an enthusiastic chase that had taken him all the way to Furnshill and back.

“Sir! Sir!” Riding up to them, he was close to falling from his saddle as he reined in his horse before them.

It took little time for him to tell them, gasping out the message from Peter Clifford, his eyes darting from one to another of the silent men before him. When the boy had finished, Simon and Baldwin stared at him, then at each other. Snatching their reins from the waiting hostlers, they leapt up and, setting spurs to their mounts, set off to Crediton.

At the yard before Peter Clifford’s house, they turned in and dismounted quickly, their messenger taking their reins and leading the mounts to the stable area. The door was opened by Peter himself, who gave them a short nod and stood back to let them all enter. His face was serious. He did not smile at the sight of his friends, but silently led the way through to his hall.