Текст книги "The Crediton Killings"

Автор книги: Michael Jecks

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

8

The jail was a small building near the market, almost opposite the inn. Commonly it was used for victims of the Pie Powder courts, at which market traders were convicted for selling short measures or defective goods, but it also served for those committed for more serious offenses. Small, stone and square, it lurked malevolently near the toll-booth, a focus of fear for people of the town, for many of those who entered would only leave to make their way to the gallows.

It was only a few minutes’ walk from Peter’s house. Baldwin and Simon set off immediately after their breakfast. Roger had asked if he might join them, and Stapledon agreed that it could be useful for the rector to witness how investigations were conducted.

Even this early in the morning the street was busy. Hawkers strolled, yelling their offers to the world, horses clattered along the partly cobbled way, wagons thumped and rattled past, and Simon smiled to see the children running and jumping in and among the traffic. He saw the woman in gray, her child nearby, but she did not appear to recognize him. He did not blame her: it had been late when he helped her, and dark in the street. She stood quietly, a begging bowl in her hand, smiling pitifully at all who passed in a desperate attempt to win alms. Simon averted his gaze. There were so many, especially after the years of famine, who needed the charity of others to survive, yet the sight of beggars always made him feel uncomfortable.

All along the way Roger found his nostrils assailed by the fumes of the busy, growing town. Sharp woodsmoke gave a wholesome background, but more pervasive was the noisome stench rising from the open sewer in the street, to which the dung of horses, oxen, pigs and sheep all added their malodorous reek. As they approached the inn, the smells altered, subtly proclaiming the presence of the butcher.

They stopped to watch. The butcher’s was on the corner of two streets, right next to the inn, and behind it Roger could make out the cookshop. A little beyond was the lane which led behind the cookshop, past the stables, to the inn’s yard. Before the inn itself was the small pile of animal remains Baldwin had stood in the night before; now four stray dogs hovered over it, snatching what they could and snarling at each other.

In front of the butcher’s itself Roger saw the rotund little figure of Adam at his work, a large knife in his hand, and dressed in his heavy old apron. The rector paid little attention; he was staring at a hawker further up the street when there was a loud, piercing squeal that made the hair on the back of his neck tingle.

When Roger turned in horror, he saw that the butcher had stuck a pig. It hung upside down from a tripod by a rope around its hind legs, jerking and twitching as the blood bubbled and gushed from the vivid gash in its throat, dripping into a large pot underneath. As its struggles decreased, the butcher slit it from breast to pelvis, and the entrails, massive ropes of yellow brown, suddenly slithered free like so many snakes from a sack. An assistant was already tipping boiling water over the animal and readying his razor to remove all the bristles from the body, and Adam had his hands inside the carcass pulling out the heart and lungs as he watched.

The smell of rotting flesh pervaded the street. Although many townspeople complained regularly to Baldwin about the smells and the flies, there was little he could do. If folk wanted to eat, the butcher must ply his trade. It was a shame that feces voided from the bowels of animals were dumped until they could be carried to the midden, for it created an unwholesome aroma, but the guts must be cleaned so that sausages could be made. Little if anything was wasted from a pig’s carcass.

When the body had been carelessly shaved and carried away, a fresh hog was brought to its three-legged scaffold. Adam stropped his knife and waited while it was hauled aloft, squealing in rage and terror, its evil little eyes rolling wildly in fury. Seeing the three men watching, Adam smiled and waved, and Roger thought to himself how like a hog the butcher himself looked, with his little shining eyes and round features.

They walked on across the street. It was only a matter of yards from here to the jail, and Simon’s eyes were on the small, squat building, but when he shot a glance at Baldwin, the knight was staring at the inn almost opposite.

“What is it?” Simon asked.

“Oh, I was just thinking that being here, near the market, the inn must often have wagons parked outside it. Look, one is there now.”

“Yes.” The bailiff could see the old cart, the horse standing slack and tired, thin and ragged from underfeeding and maltreatment. “So what?”

“I had thought it would be too obvious for Cole to try to get the silver out through a window on the street, but look! If a stranger parked a carriage of some sort here, it would be noticed immediately, but a man could wait nearby, and take the things from the window, couldn’t he? If there was someone there now, he would be hidden from sight by the butcher’s wagon.”

“But if the silver weighed so much that three men were needed to carry it…”

“Oh yes, but he could have had more than one accomplice, or he might have passed it out in small parcels. That way his companion could have stood here for a few minutes, then gone to hide the silver and come back for the next instalment. Always hidden, always out of sight behind a wagon. It would be a perfect arrangement.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand.”

“What?” Baldwin looked at him with a faint grin. Simon was a long way from being himself, he thought, but he did seem to be mending. It was not only the way he had smiled at his wife over breakfast; he had a different look to him. Last night he was peevish and complaining, but now that he had something to occupy his mind, he had almost become the cautious and thoughtful man whom Baldwin remembered. Apart from anything else, raising objections to Baldwin’s ideas was a sure sign that the bailiff was improving.

“Let’s say you’re right and he had an accomplice out here…”

“He must have had an accomplice somewhere, whether here or out back, in the yard.”

“Fine. If that’s right, why did he still have two plates on him?”

Baldwin stopped. “I… What?”

“If you’re right, then he must have passed everything out to his companion. So why did he have two plates on him when he was caught?”

“I suppose he might have discovered that his friend had gone so he had to take them out himself when he left the room.”

“Through the hall, you mean? That makes no sense. If he was part of an organized group, the reason for having someone outside was so he didn’t need to carry anything himself. Nor would he have left any spare things behind, like the saltcellar. If he was going to carry out something worthwhile, he’d have gone for that, but instead he took two plates, the last things I would have expected him to choose.”

“It would have been easier to hide two plates. They are flatter,” the knight suggested.

“True, but even better would be nothing. Why risk discovery by carrying them? Far better to leave them behind and make good his escape. Especially since you’re supposing his accomplice had disappeared – in that circumstance, I would have expected him to get out and not take anything with him. His only interest would be in how fast he could vanish, not what else he could take with him. That’s what I find so difficult.”

“Why? He was greedy, that’s all. He’s a thief. All right, so his accomplice had to leave for some reason, or maybe he simply took too long to get back. Whatever, Cole found himself with the last two plates and decided to brazen it out.”

“If you were him, would you have taken out those plates? Put yourself in his shoes. The whole theft has been thought out carefully, even down to the accomplice outside. And then the accomplice disappears… you don’t know why, but surely you would suspect he had been seen. You still have to escape – and that means walking through the hall, under the eyes of thirty – odd men. You have two plates left out of God alone knows how many, and you are so blase you decide to take them with you? I find that hard to believe!”

“Thieves can be irrational.”

“Not so irrational, surely, that when they know they’re being chased they keep some spoil on them! He would get rid of any incriminating evidence as soon as he discovered his pursuit.”

“You might have a point, but think on this: you have just had to murder a girl as well. That has thrown your plans all awry. You hide the body, and then escape, taking the shortest route. It could well be that your accomplice never disappeared: after having to commit murder, you decide to get out through the window yourself.”

“Somebody would see a man diving out through a window.”

“Would they? If so much silver could be shoved out without being noticed, I doubt it. If somebody’s carriage was in the way, maybe no one could see. Cole could have jumped out and remained hidden, then gone on later.”

“But, Sir Baldwin,” Roger interrupted, “who closed the shutters afterward?”

Baldwin found that he was frowning. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a merchant staring at them. Grinning apologetically, he continued in a mutter, “I have no idea, but it is the best explanation I can think of for now.”

“I want to know what really happened,” Simon stated.

Baldwin raised a fist to hammer on the door. “Well, rather than speculating, let’s find out. Simon, I… Where are you going?”

“Just a thought, Baldwin,” Simon called over his shoulder.

The butcher had that minute stopped, and was sitting on a three-legged stool, a pot of ale in his fist. As people walked past, all had a polite word with him, Simon noticed, and all received a nod and a smile from the genial man. Children got a wink too.

Simon was aware of his companions joining him as he reached the other side of the road. The inn’s hall ran parallel to the street here, the entrance almost in the middle. Here, almost opposite the jail, they were at the dais end, and to their left were the windows that gave on to the solar block commandeered by the captain. With the bustle and hubbub in the street, it was obvious to the two men that nobody could have taken anything from the inn unseen.

Walking slowly past the butcher’s, Simon went to the road which led up the hill. Aware of the amused patience of his friend, Simon walked past the butcher and his tripod to the corner where the two roads met, and looked up the incline.

The butcher had storerooms and a small pen, and past that was the cookshop, and then the alley which led to the inn’s yard. The road rose steeply after that, and was soon lost among the trees scattered on the hillside.

“Seen enough?” Baldwin asked.

“Yes, I think so.” Simon gave him a long and thoughtful look, then smiled at the butcher. “A pleasant morning, isn’t it?”

Adam smiled back. His back ached, his feet hurt, and he had nicked his thumb with his thin knife, but the sun was warm on his face, the ale tasted good, and there was little more for him to do that day. His apprentice could get on with things alone. “Yes, sir. It feels good to sit in the sun for a change.”

“It must be hot work in this weather,” Simon said, nodding toward the gantry where the apprentice sweated as he worked on the dead pig.

“Oh, not so bad, sir,” Adam said indulgently, pouring himself more ale from a jug beside his stool. “It’s all right out here. It’s when we have to work inside it gets a bit warm.”

“Are you out in the open most days, then?”

“Most mornings. Afternoons we spend indoors, jointing and cutting up. Then there’s the salting of the pork, and hanging of cattle to make them tender, and preparation for smoking, and sausage-making, and all the other tasks. It takes ages. People always think the killing’s the hardest part, but that’s only the beginning for us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Roger saw the apprentice curl his lip as his master spoke. The rector was convinced that the “us” was not necessarily indicative of an equal share in effort. He restrained a smile with difficulty as Simon continued, “Were you here yesterday – last afternoon?”

“Yes, sir.”

Baldwin tried to control his excitement as Simon casually asked, “Here in the street?”

“Yes, right here. My boy there,” he jerked a thumb at the assistant, “was inside with some chickens and capons, but I had to take a rest. The noise they make goes right through my head.”

“Did you see anyone up there, by the windows to the inn?”

“What, there?” Adam asked, pointing and squinting a little.

“Yes, outside the living quarters to this side of the hall.”

“No. People keep away when there’s bits of offal in the road. I wasn’t here all day, but no, I didn’t.”

“Were you here for the early part of the afternoon, then?”

“I was here from about…” he glanced blankly at his apprentice as if for inspiration “… a couple of hours after noon, I suppose, until maybe four hours after. I got too hot then, and went in to the cool.”

“What about you – did you notice anyone round here? Anybody who shouldn’t have been here, or who was hanging around for some time?” Baldwin said to the apprentice.

“Me, sir? No, I was working in the room all afternoon.”

“It doesn’t look out over this street?”

The boy pointed to the window near Adam’s shoulder. “Yes, sir, but I was working. I didn’t have time to look out.”

Adam was nodding contentedly as he spoke, and Simon had the impression that he would, for all his easy smiles and cheerfully rotund features, be a hard taskmaster. “Very well,” he said with disappointment. “Thank you for your help.”

“Wait!” Adam said, and both turned to face him once more. The butcher smiled and went into his shop, returning with a short string. “You’ll try some of my sausages, gentlemen, won’t you?”

Tanner answered the door quickly, a disgruntled, unshaven figure in dirty russet tunic and hose. A strong and stolid man, he had dark hair and a square jaw, which now jutted with irritation as the visitors pushed past him. He walked with them to the curtain at the back of the room.

Beyond was the trapdoor in the floor. It was held in place by a large iron clasp, and locked by a wooden peg. Tanner wandered over to it and kicked the peg free before bending and lifting the trap. He slid the ladder over and lowered it into the depths.

Roger winced at the stench coming up from the cell below. It was not only the cold, dank air, it was the scent of unwashed and fearful bodies. The town jail usually held people who were waiting for punishment, and all too often there was only the one punishment available. It smelled as if the fear of hundreds of prisoners over the centuries had impregnated the walls of the jail with their expectation and dread.

Philip Cole was different. In the past, when Simon had waited here and watched as a prisoner clambered up the ladder, he had felt sympathy wash over him. Philip Cole needed none. He hopped from the ladder with a degree of agility that surprised Simon, then stood silent and still beside it, staring at his interrogators.

Baldwin had learned over time to be wary of first impressions: in his experience people were rarely either as simple or as complex as they appeared, and yet…

This man was suspected of murder and robbery, two of the most heinous crimes possible, and if he was guilty, he should be betraying some of the symptoms of his conscience: nervousness, an inability to meet an official’s eye, twitching and biting his lips. Baldwin had known some criminals who were practiced in their craft and who could keep their anxiety hidden, but they were rare and usually a great deal older than this man.

Philip Cole stood defiantly, his arms behind him, and met their stares with what looked like near-anger. He displayed none of the signs of contrition which were to be expected of a man who had murdered a young woman like Sarra. If he was a knave who had killed to hide a robbery, Baldwin mused, he was a very good actor. His forehead was unlined, giving him an air of probity, his eyes had a guilelessness which fitted well with his simple clothing, marking him out as a farmer, and the way he stared back at his three jailers held more contempt than remorse.

The knight had to remind himself that this man, even if not a murderer, was at best a willing mercenary; he had joined a band of men who were little better than outlaws who held legitimacy purely by the force of their arms.

“Well? Have you come here to release me?”

Simon moved over to join Roger by a wall. Tanner leaned against the doorframe in case the lad attempted to escape. The bailiff of Lydford had no authority here; this was Baldwin’s area, and he must conduct the enquiry.

“You know why you are here?” Baldwin asked.

“Two men have accused me of stealing. It’s stupid! Where is all this silver I’m supposed to have taken? Search my bags; look through all my things. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“The thief was well-prepared, even had an accomplice. Such a man would find it easy to conceal what he had taken.”

“Oh? And where, then, am I supposed to have put all this silver?” Philip exploded. “I don’t even know anyone here.”

Studying his face, Baldwin still could not discern a trace of nervousness. He paused a moment. “Yesterday you were at the inn all day?”

“Yes.” He sounded irritable, as if such questions were foolish.

“Yet last night you were found some miles from the town, on a road heading south. What were you doing there?”

“Nothing. I was attacked here, in the town.”

“What?”

“I was attacked. Knocked on the head.”

“Where?”

“At the inn, in the yard behind it. I was sitting near the rear door when I heard something out at the stables. The horses were making a racket, and I went out to see what was upsetting them. That’s all I know.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged, and for the first time looked a little ill-at-ease. “I remember crossing the yard. No one else was about, and I didn’t hurry, there seemed no point. There’s the one big door and separate boxes set out on the left, and I think I just got inside the door when something caught me. I fell, and I can remember being dazzled; it was dark in the stable, and I’d been trying to get used to it when I was struck. When I fell, I rolled, and the sun was in my eyes.”

“Did you see who had struck you?”

Cole reached up and touched the hair above his left ear. “No,” he admitted wryly. “I wish I had.”

“Let me see.” Baldwin walked over to him and peered at the man’s head. He was not lying about being hit, that much was evident. Just over his ear was a tangled mess where the greasy hair had become matted. Baldwin probed, making Cole wince and hiss. There was a crust, Baldwin saw, and a little broke off in tiny clumps which he studied closely. In the dark of the jail it was hard to be certain, but it looked and felt like dried blood. He glanced back at the man’s face. “Was there anyone else there who might have seen this happen?”

“I don’t know.” His impatience was reasserting itself. “I was unconscious. Someone must have seen me go in, I imagine.”

Simon broke in. “When did all this happen?”

“Sometime in the late afternoon.”

“We found you late at night. Do you expect us to believe you could have been out cold for that long?”

“All I know is, I went to see what was happening to the horses, and when I came to loads of men were staring at me like I was something that’d just crawled out of the sewer.”

The bailiff subsided, looking at Baldwin, who recognized the other’s expression: baffled confusion. The knight ventured, “If what you say is true, do you have any idea why someone could have tried to make you look like the guilty one?”

Cole glowered at the ground. “Yes.”

“Could you tell us, then?” Baldwin prompted smoothly.

Cole hesitated. “I want to get him myself. It’s me he’s hurt – I want to have my own revenge.”

“Do you realize the position you are in?” asked Baldwin in disbelief. “Your captain has had all his silver stolen – some of it was found on you – and a murder has been committed, probably during the robbery. Why should we listen to you when…”

“Murder?” His face had paled, his shock so palpable, Baldwin was convinced he had no idea that Sarra had been killed, though whether that was because he thought she had merely been injured and would recover, or because he knew nothing of the attack on her, was another matter. “What murder? Who’s dead? This is a trick – you’re trying to get me to confess to the robbery by threatening me with…”

“Shut up!” Tanner snapped curtly, but Baldwin held up a restraining hand. He surveyed the prisoner.

“This is no trick; we’re not trying to trap you. All we want to do is clear up a particularly nasty murder, and right now you are the main – well, the only – suspect.”

“But I know nothing of this. Who’s dead? Is it one of the soldiers?” His face was ashen, and he reminded Roger of a sack which has suddenly lost its contents. The cheeks seemed to draw in, the eyes to stare with the dreadful realization of his danger.

“Tell us who might have put this on to you. You were only there with Sir Hector for a day or so – did you anger someone? Or was it somebody from your home?”

Cole took a deep breath and met the knight’s gaze steadily. “It was someone in the band. I’ve no idea who, but it must have been one of them.” Baldwin nodded encouragingly, and the youth carried on haltingly, his voice betraying his emotion.

“Sir Hector’s men came through this way some five years ago. Back then I was only fourteen, but my brother Thomas was nearly twenty, and a strong, hard man. He was a good brother, and he looked after the family, four brothers and a sister, after our father died when he was eleven, working for any farmer who needed help. When my sister decided to marry, he slaved to earn enough to make her a dowry. But then our mother died, and my youngest brother with her, and Thomas had had enough. He wanted to marry, but the girl he loved was already betrothed, and the day she wed he told me he was going to go away.”

“This is all very interesting, but…” Baldwin murmured.

“It’s important, sir. Thomas left me in the care of John, my remaining brother, and went off. We didn’t know where, all we knew was, he’d gone. Then – oh, it must have been a year later – we had a message. Someone came past our place and visited us. He told us my brother had joined Sir Hector’s band, but he had died in Gascony, during a fight.”

“There are lots of wars in Gascony, especially on the border with France,” Baldwin said, and Cole nodded.

“Yes, sir, and I’d have thought no more about it, except this man said Thomas had been killed while fighting as an archer for Sir Hector. Now Thomas was a good fighter; known for it. But archer? He couldn’t hit a barn if he was stood inside it: he was awful. No one would let him near a bow in battle. He was the sort to stand with a pike and protect the bowmen, but not ever get near a bow himself. It made us wonder.”

“Many messages like that get confused, especially after a battle,” Baldwin noted thoughtfully.

“I know, sir, but it still seemed strange. The messenger was very definite. When I pressed him, he insisted that he had been told Thomas had been an archer. Anyway, John was killed two months ago, crushed by a wagon at the farm. There was nothing to keep me there anymore, and when I heard Sir Hector’s band were passing by again, I felt I had to come and see them to find out what happened to Thomas.”

“It hardly required you to join them,” said Simon dryly.

“No, sir,” Cole agreed. “But when I saw them all at the inn, I guessed they might not tell me much. I thought the best way to find out the truth was to join them. Otherwise they’d just close their mouths and keep their silence, and I want to know what really did happen.”

“What did you find out?” Baldwin had become interested despite himself.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I asked after Tom with a few people, but they all seemed never to have heard of him. And then this happened.”