Covenant With Hell

Chapter Twenty-seven

From the shadows of a narrow alley, an indistinct figure watched the armed band enter the craftsman’s house.

The assassin shrugged. There was little to fear from the king’s men. They would find nothing.

With a war raging against the Welsh, King Edward needed money. A special levy was likely. Merchants had fat purses to thin. But why should they pay a new tax to kill a distant foe when their immediate safety was threatened? Fretful mortals grew less eager to pay for wars when violence was amongst them, and the craftsmen of other towns had occasionally risen against the king’s collectors with some success.

For this reason, the king’s men had cause to keep the wealthy merchants content. It took time to seek an elusive killer, thus haste would be favored. The traitor was confident that the sheriff would drag one of Larcher’s apprentices away for hanging, an easy sacrifice to the needs of this king’s war.

Durant of Norwich and Brother Thomas were more worrisome.

Of least danger might be the monk. Staring at the tall man, whose red-gold hair sparkled even in weak sunlight, the slayer knew Thomas was as quick-witted as he was handsome, but surely the man would never guess who had killed the foolish merchant. The monk and his prioress were accustomed to those who slew out of greed, jealousy, or fear. They had no experience of men who shed blood so the land might be rid of a dishonorable sovereign and, in due course, graced with a nobler king. But the assassin had no quarrel with the two religious. If they had the wisdom to stay apart from this matter and leave Walsingham soon, they both could live.

The wine merchant was a different problem. From what the traitor knew of his work for King Edward, the man should die, and perhaps he would. Yet there remained the possibility that his services could be bought. Many who served one master for jewels and equally glittering promises would be willing to obey another if the bag of coin was heavier or the rewards more tempting.

Durant was clever, skilled, and too valuable to be lost if his loyalty could be transformed into a wiser one. If not, the slayer concluded, a knife in the throat while he let himself be pleasured in a dark alley would be a simple task. Apart from a few, most spies did not long survive the turmoil of dark plots.

The murderer tensed.

The monk and wine merchant were leaving.

Slipping deeper into the alley, the traitor pressed against a wall and further pondered what should happen next.

Durant would seek witnesses who might have seen someone approach the private entrance, although he probably suspected that would be a waste of time. To let oneself be noticed was the work of an amateur, and Durant must know his quarry was no apprentice in these matters. Still, the man had no choice but to ask his questions, and the assassin was pleased that this futile search would keep the wine merchant busy.

As for the monk, it was probable that he would also look for information elsewhere. Talking to the little beggar was his most likely choice, and she knew nothing. Had she, she would have been strangled by now, a crime any reasonable person would attribute to the dangers of living on the streets.

Peering around the corner, the killer confirmed that no one was approaching this alley and decided it was safe to leave as well.

Some would say it was unwise to remain in Walsingham after killing the craftsman and advise escape. But that counsel failed to take into account what was involved in the greater goal of killing a king. Not only was it necessary to stay until the king came to Walsingham, but fleeing without good cause sparked interest. By themselves, the king’s men might not recognize a fugitive as a murderer, but Master Durant could and would not hesitate to point a finger in the right direction.

Mistakes in the execution of lofty deeds must never be made. Even little ones could be fatal to the purpose. Careful though the assassin had been, there was one thing that had not been done, something that should have been destroyed after the death of Sister Roysia.

But discovery of the nun’s body had been unfortunately swift. There had been little time or privacy to take care of the matter then. Ryehill Priory might be small, but the nuns did occasionally walk the hall outside the tower door. Escape without detection from the bell tower had been paramount.

With all the nuns at prayer, now was the right moment to remedy that error.

***

If anyone had been standing outside Master Larcher’s house just then, they might have seen a vague shape become one with the darkness of that narrow alley leading to the nun’s priory. Perhaps they would have asked, in this town of sacred shrines, if the creature they witnessed was mortal at all. Might it be a damned soul still seeking absolution when there was no longer any hope of it?