J. Tomlin - The Templar's Cross

“Wheest, Cormac, mind your place,” Wulle scolded and got a glare for his trouble. “I wonder if they will take long. You’d think they wouldn’t have much to consider.”

“I suppose they must consider if it was I who did the deed.” He breathed a soft laugh. “I’ve killed more than a few in battles, but I’m no murderer.” They’d seemed convinced of his innocence, and yet…how could one be sure?

“Ach, with so many of our men fighting the English in France, more than a few have done that.” The innkeeper slapped Law’s shoulder. “This testifying is thirsty work. I’ll draw you a mug of ale when we bide at home and no charge to you.”

“That’s kind of you.”

A thin, wiry man, shoulders slumped and dark, greasy locks of hair hanging over his eyes, had sidled close. Law tilted his head to give the man a considering look.

“Go on wi’ you,” Wulle barked.

As Law stared after him, the man darted back into the onlookers. “Who was that?” he asked the other two men.

Cormac scowled dramatically. “What? No ale for me? You’re a tight-fisted man, Wulle.”

Wulle said, “That’s Dave Taylor as he’s called. Mayhap he tailors his clothes from the rats he catches.” Wulle snickered, but his face straightened as he pointed at a door that a guard had pulled open. “Here comes the assize. I thought t’would not take them long.”

The fifteen men of the assize filed through the door held open by the sergeant and proceeded solemnly to the enclosure. A buzz of speculation went through the chamber. Sir William rapped on the table, and the clerk jerked erect from dozing, almost knocking over his inkhorn. Once the sergeant climbed the steps to the dais and shouted for silence, Sir William briefly reminded the assize of the verdicts they were expected to bring and asked who would speak for them.

The burly hammersmith who had questioned Law took a step forward. “I shall, my lord. Androu Gray, maister hammersmith.”

“And what has the assize found on the first death, Androu?”

“We’re agreed that it is Duncan Kintour, and the death was foul murder by stabbing.”

“Gey well done, my good men. And do you agree to who saw to the death?”

“No, on that we could not. Two thought that it was yon Sir Law but the rest of us held that there was no way to ken who had done the deed.”

Law sucked in a breath of relief as a hubbub started up and everyone in the room seemed to turn to mutter about the verdict. The sergeant shouted for order. It took several shouts but after a few minutes the din quieted.

“Keep silent or I’ll clear the room except for the assize,” Sir William said. “Now, Androu, what is the verdict on the second death?”

“We do not ken who is he, but most of us think he is an Englishman. Some have whitish hair like thon. It is obvious how he died, by murder from having his throat slit.” The smith frowned toward the draped corpse. “But it is a different kind of stroke from behind, but most like by a dagger. It could have been the same or mayhap not. We dinnae ken enough to say who was the killer.”

Sir William lunged to his feet, scowling. “The king expects me to keep peace in this burgh.” He glared about him. “If anyone kens more of this matter, they had best come to me with it.”

There was a general muttering of disappointment at the lack of excitement in the verdict. Law suppressed an unwise grin, a feeling of dizzy lightness coursing through him. Sir William motioned to the sergeant and, after a whispered few words, thanked the assize for their service.

“Hardly worth getting wet to come,” Wulle muttered, turning to join the stream of men leaving.

Cormac tilted his head toward the doors but Law patted his shoulder. “I’ll join you in a while.” He shouldered his way through the moving stream of gossiping men toward the sergeant, who was handing each of the men of the assize his coin as a fee. Crossing his arms, Law watched everyone leave until the hubbub began to subside. “It seems to me…” This might be a mistake. He shouldn’t call attention to himself in this matter, but he owed Duncan at least this much, so he continued. “It seems to me that whoever that was, he had most likely been in Perth long enow to find a room. So someone must know who he was.” He couldn’t risk their knowing he had been searching before Duncan’s death. “But someone would remember a man with such unusual looks.”

The sergeant hawked and spit into the reeds on the floor. “Aye. But he’s dead and anon buried. I dinnae have men to waste time finding out his name.” He narrowed his eyes. “Though if you ken more than you’ve admitted, the sheriff will have your skin for it.”

“I don’t, but I do think finding out where he stayed might lead to whoever killed him.”

“Most likely it was a thief frightened away by a passerby. Anyroad, I shall look about to see if anyone kens who the blond-haired man was.”

“It might keep the sheriff happy.” Law nodded, carefully courteous without groveling. “Good day to you, Sergeant.”

Law walked slowly down South Street into Meal Vennel to Cullen’s scabrous inn, where an ale stake leaned into the street. A rickety sign painted with a flagon creaked as it swung from the stake. He pushed open the door and entered the murky room that stank of peat smoke and spilled ale.

When Law closed the door, Wulle was wagging his chin to a heavy shouldered, red-bearded man, probably sharing the morning’s tidings.

Cormac had taken his usual place well away from the draught from the door and was strumming his harp. He waved to Cormac on his way to a table in a corner and sat with his back to the wall, gaze on the men bent over their cups. There were no strangers, though he noticed the man Wulle had named as the ratcatcher with his face half-hidden by a mug. There was no Lord Blinsele. If he was to collect the rest of his pay, he’d best find the man and report de Carnea’s death though it brought them no closer to Blinsele’s lady wife-if that was indeed what the man was seeking.

Law took a sip from his cup, and worked his shoulders to loosen the tension. He hadn’t been sure they wouldn’t try to blame the murders on him until the assize brought in a verdict. Yet that still left a mystery that made his fingers twitch. Whoever had murdered Duncan, perhaps for having discovered something in watching the monastery, might decide it was best if Law was out of the way as well. Law would not be easy to kill any more now than he had been on the field in France, but better to look trouble in the face rather than have it sneak up on you. That way of living had been what had kept him alive this long.

Cormac hit a louder note to gain silence. When the men looked up, he softly sang:

Law snorted to himself. Cormac loved to sing of the horrid fall of knights, especially within Law’s hearing.

Wulle hurried over with a pitcher and two cups. If the man was hoping for more gossip to share with his customers, he would hope in vain. Law tossed a groat onto the table. “Let the lad moisten his throat. Even though he’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

The innkeeper sat heavily down and filled the two cups for them, but he waved to his wife to bring another. “A shame about your friend,” he said with an avid look about his eyes. “The two of you talked to that stranger before he went out, and now your friend is dead. Seems gey suspicious, you ken, some stranger like that coming to seek you out.”