Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

‘The thing is, my Lord,’ said Sheriff Landstock, pouring himself out a tankard of ale, ‘have these two got any connection with this fellow we’re looking for? The traitor who’s going to cause mayhem when the King arrives. The one with the damn silly name?’

‘You mean Ultor? The answer is, I don’t know. All I can say is that I’m uneasy about what’s going on here. One murder – we know who was responsible for that – one suspected murder, and now a persecution of a harmless old woman who’s never been threatened before. At the moment, I regard everyone as a possible suspect.’

‘That’s the best thing to do, but I can’t, for the life of me, see any connection between setting an old lady’s shed on fire and finding out who Ultor is. Sometimes people just gang up against someone for no particular reason. It takes just one rumour and the mob’s ready for action. Very nasty. It mustn’t be allowed to happen. We can’t have mob rule.’

‘Quite right, Richard. We must nip it in the bud.’

They drank their ale in silence, both men lost in thought. Suddenly, Sheriff Landstock looked up and glanced across at Nicholas.

‘It’s possible, of course – though I can scarcely believe it – that Agnes Myles could’ve been a witness?’

‘It certainly is possible. I’m coming round to thinking that she might have seen or done or heard something that could incriminate Ultor. Once she loosens her tongue we might learn what it is. She needs protection and that’s why I’ve put her in a safe place.’

‘You said she’s in the Priory. Is that safe enough?’

‘I’ve put her in the anchorite’s cell and Jane’s got the key.’

‘Jane?’ The Sheriff raised a bushy, ginger eyebrow.

‘My accomplice.’

‘You’ve got an accomplice, and she’s a woman? I’m amazed, my Lord. You do like making things difficult for yourself. Murder, treason, arson – these are not things a woman ought to get involved in.’

‘Jane Warrener’s the best spy anyone could have. She can go where none of your men could go. People talk to her.’

‘I can see that. But watch out she’s not the next victim. If she asks too many questions she’ll end up face down in the village pond.’

Nicholas winced. It was what he most feared. As soon as possible he’d have her off the case; not that she’d take a blind bit of notice, he thought ruefully.

‘Anyway,’ said Landstock, getting up and going over to the fire, ‘that’s your affair, and I hope you know what you’re doing. But, back to Agnes Myles. If she really is a witness, then why doesn’t Ultor simply bump her off like he did with the other witness, Bess Knowles, if you’re right about her? Why go through all this charade putting it about that she’s a witch? Why not burn her house down when she’s asleep? It’s easy to make it look like an accident.’

‘I’ve thought of that. I think that if Ultor’s behind this, he wants the mob to do his dirty work for him. If he did kill Bess Knowles, he won’t want to kill again too quickly. We’ve got a cunning devil here, Sheriff. He knows he’s running out of time. It’s only nine days before the King arrives. He doesn’t want the finger of suspicion pointing in his direction. One old lady, who might have heard something that could incriminate him, could blow his cover sky high. He’ll be wanting the mob to take over and whilst we’re trying to restore law and order in the village the heat will be taken off him.’

‘God, let’s hope that woman starts talking soon.’

‘At the moment she’s in such a state of terror that she’s still drifting in and out of consciousness. Jane’s going to try and get her to talk when she recovers. When she does, it could take a long time before she gets her wits together. It’s more than likely that she’ll have lost her memory. A shock can do that, as you know. Also, she has a constant stream of people coming to her house for healing herbs and to ask advice about all sorts of problems. She’s known all over the county. I doubt whether she’ll remember who they all were.’

‘If she can tell us anything it would help. At the moment it’s all supposition. In the meantime, let’s take a look at these two wretches you’ve got in your cellar. Maybe they can tell us something.’

* * *

They went over to the keep and Nicholas unlocked the door. Taking a lighted torch from the bracket on the wall, they went down a steep, spiral staircase to what had been the dungeons in the days when country houses had to double up as castles. Geoffrey Lowe now used the dungeons as cellars to store produce, but one of the rooms was too small and too damp to be much use as a food store. Nicholas unlocked the door and they went in. Lifting up his torch, as the room had no window, he saw the two men huddled together against the far wall on a layer of straw.

‘Well, you two, here’s the Sheriff come to see you. Now tell him why you wouldn’t help us save Mistress Myles’s shed last night? You know you’ve got a duty to help put out fires. And you also know it’s an offence to slander a person without proof.’

‘We don’t need any proof,’ said the older man, Will Perkins. ‘Everyone knows she’s an old witch.’

‘Who said so?’

‘Everyone says so.’

‘Who’s everyone?’ said the Sheriff coming closer to peer at them.

‘How should I know who they are? People you talk to in the ale-house, those sort of people.’

‘Which ale-house?’

‘One in Marchester. Down near the new cross they’re building.’

‘So why did you come to Dean Peverell?’

‘We often come here, don’t we, Tim,’ Will Perkins said to the younger man, who was shivering on the straw next to him. ‘There’s work to do at this time of the year. The Prior lets us help with the lambs. We pick up pieces of wool from the shearing and the monks let us keep them. Comes in useful for covers for the winter. So we comes down here, drinks a few jars at the ale-house, and we sleep in one of the Prior’s barns. Then we hears that there’s a bit of a rumpus about an old woman down the road, and there might be a chance to see a bit of fun. Nothing like a good witch baiting. You should see them swing up on Marchester Heath with all their petticoats flying up over their heads in the wind. So we comes here and went along last night to join in the fun. But we don’t help an old woman to save her shed where she makes up all those evil spells. We don’t care if her house is burned down, and what’s more, neither does anyone else. We weren’t the only ones to stand back from the flames. If that old busy-body hadn’t come along and got everyone organised with buckets of water the village would have been rid of its witch.’

‘So you didn’t go near the fire?’ said Nicholas, going closer to the two men and shining the torch in their faces.

‘Nope. Nothing to do with us. We got there after it was started.’

‘So why is there a big scorch mark on your sleeve?’ said Nicholas, indicating with his torch a large burnt area on the sleeve of the man’s jacket.

Perkins peered at the patch. ‘That’s because I got too near to the blaze and nearly set myself on fire.’

‘And yet you said you didn’t go near the fire?’

‘That was later, when that bossy fellow tried to get us organised. I did take a peek at it when we first got there. Now are you going to let us go? We’ve got nothing to tell, nothing to hide. We didn’t see who started the fire. In fact I can’t see why anyone would want to burn down her old shed. If you want to kill a witch, you burn down her house with her inside it. Now that’s what I call fun. You’ve got to let us go, you know. We’ve got our rights, haven’t we, Tim?’

‘Yes. We’ve got our rights,’ echoed the younger man.