The Crediton Killings

25

“As to why he killed them, I suppose we’ll never know,” Baldwin said.

They were back in Peter Clifford’s hall, drinking Hippocras. The strong fumes of the wine, mingled with the ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves, gave off a scent which dispelled their fears and calmed their nerves.

Simon needed it. He sat by his friend, but still held the hand of his wife firmly. Right now he felt that he would never dare leave hold of it. He had learned in a very short space of time how much he adored her. The events of the afternoon had nearly shattered his mind, as the butcher had hoped. Glancing at Margaret and squeezing her fingers affectionately, he noted the lines on her brow, the heavy bruises under her eyes and the paleness of her face. It was only with an effort that he stopped himself kissing her.

Stapledon frowned. “From what you say, it was all done in an attempt to frame the mercenary.”

“Yes, as far as we can tell. From what he said, it was in order to put the blame directly on Sir Hector that he murdered the women, including his own wife.”

“A hideous act.”

“As you observe, an appalling deed. By all accounts he was very much in love with Mary, and when he discovered she was having an adulterous affair – and there appears to be no doubt whatever on that score – he went quite mad. To kill two innocents, and his own wife… Well, it beggars belief.”

Simon nodded. The little butcher must have been quite demented. He picked up his goblet and sipped, then froze. “Baldwin, have you given any instructions for releasing Cole or Sir Hector?”

“Oh…” Baldwin met Peter Clifford’s eye shamefacedly and decided not to curse. It always offended the priest. With a slight grin, he continued, “No – thanks, for reminding me.”

“I should send someone to invite them both here for a celebratory drink. Wat is still holding Sir Hector, isn’t he? Let the message go to him. Ask Wat to bring his master under guard.”

“Simon, are you planning something?” Baldwin asked suspiciously.

“Me? Of course not. The very idea!”

Stapledon watched them bemusedly. What were they planning now? It was hard to tell, but he thought he could discern something in their bantering tones, though they were too far away for him to see their expressions.

He was staggered that Margaret Puttock had been prepared to remain with her man. If he’d been her, he would have retired immediately to his room and slept, he was sure, for the story of how she had been captured and hauled aloft had been told and retold many times already, and all the servants in the house were treating her with huge respect after her ordeal. He was surprised that she had not lost her sense after such a trial, and was uncomfortably aware that his own conduct in similar circumstances might not have been so praiseworthy.

Now the two men were talking in undertones, nodding as each confirmed points with the other, and Stapledon strained his ears. They were not being quiet to hide anything, but more because their speech was an extension of each other’s thoughts. For these men, talking to the other in a low voice was indistinguishable from carrying on a sequence of logical mental processes, Stapledon thought to himself. They were almost as close as a husband and wife in the way that they appeared to be able to anticipate the words of the other and counter an argument before it had been fully expressed.

Accepting a fresh goblet of Hippocras, he wearily sank back in his chair. His head still hurt abominably, but he had suffered no long-term damage, as the surgeon had assured him. There was no loose bone where he had been struck, and for such an old man, the surgeon had implied, it was a miracle that he had suffered no worse injury. He curled his lip wryly as he recalled the highly un-Godly words he had used to drive the skinny medico from his room bawling the man out for his nerve.

The first of the two men to arrive was Cole. He looked dreadful, with his greasy hair flat on one side, and almost vertical on the crown where he had run his fingers through it. His complexion was pale and he looked as if he had been suffering from a fever, his skin was so waxy, and the general impression of illness was added to by the nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth. Tanner stood behind him, waiting for confirmation from Baldwin that he was permitted to free his prisoner, and he cut the thongs that bound Cole’s hands as soon as Baldwin nodded to him. Thankfully, and for the first time in many days, Cole dropped onto a stool, wondering what had happened to cause his miraculous release.

Less than a quarter of an hour later Sir Hector arrived with Wat and another guard. His appearance was in every way the reverse of Cole’s, making the distinction even more marked. His face was ruddy from exercise, his eyes clear and steady, his stance firm and assured.

“You asked me to come and celebrate. I understand you have ended this unhappy affair, and that Adam Butcher is dead?”

“Yes,” Baldwin smiled. “He fell from the church’s scaffolding…” He glanced at Margaret, and chose to forego a more precise description of the afternoon’s events.

“It is good to hear. I will drink to celebrate with you. Here’s to the end of a murderer!”

Simon watched him speculatively. “Would you drink the same toast for any murderer?” he enquired.

“Of course. Anyone like that is a loose brick in the wall of our society; they can bring the whole building down around us all. Society needs protection from such as they.”

“Hmm.”

“Do you know why this madman decided to kill the women? Did you discover it?”

“Ah, yes,” Simon cleared his throat. “I forgot you wouldn’t have heard. Basically, he was trying to set you up as the scapegoat.”

“He intended that?”

Baldwin nodded. “Very definitely. He wanted to ensure that you were arrested, and hanged.”

“You see,” Simon continued, before his friend could carry on, “he knew you were having an affair with his wife, and he wanted revenge.”

“He would kill all those women just to get at me? It seems hard to believe!”

“Nonetheless, it is true. He killed Judith because he knew you had… er… been her lover when you were last here.”

“It is true,” Sir Hector admitted. “She even alleged that her boy was my bastard!” He laughed, but nobody joined in.

“Quite,” Baldwin said. “Anyhow, Butcher saw you having your altercation with her, we think, and could see that we had witnessed it as well, so he stabbed her, knowing that this second murder would be bound to make us think you were the guilty party. After all, most murders are committed by men who kill their lovers or their wives – just as Butcher himself did with his own wife.”

Sir Hector sipped his Hippocras, nodding. “I see. And he knew I was not at the inn because I was waiting to meet his wife. He must have found out we had planned to meet. The evil devil must have forced her to tell him where and when, so that he could make me look suspicious.”

“Very likely,” Baldwin agreed. “The murder of his own wife was intended, I think, to be the sweet glazing on the fruit, the crowning proof which would lead us to arrest you. It was meant as the final evidence, and it certainly was compelling. Yet we had doubts, for she must have died some days before, and we had seen you waiting for her. You might have been trying to establish your innocence, but it did appear odd. You would have been better served to make sure that everyone knew where you were all the time.”

“I am glad you realized,” said Sir Hector gravely. “Knowing I was suspected of killing my Mary made a bad situation even harder to bear.”

“What about me?” Cole demanded. “I’ve been locked up for days, held under suspicion of murder as well as theft. What happens now? Am I truly free?”

“Oh, yes,” Simon smiled. “Our apologies for your confinement, but the evidence was extreme against you. You were new to the group, and at first all we knew of you was that you had been found with incriminating items on your person. It was natural to suspect you. Then we learned that the men who had found you were the two whom the company generally mistrusted and despised, and it was better, it seemed to us, to leave you in the jail for your own safety. You had been picked out, if you like, by two who were capable of stirring up others against you and causing your death.”

“And, of course, we had to wonder whether you might have killed Sarra,” Baldwin murmured, pouring more drink into his goblet. “There was no reason to suspect you in particular, except we had heard about you arguing with her. The only evidence, likewise, against Sir Hector at first was that he had argued with Sarra and forced her from his presence.”

Stapledon felt his brows rise. Being too myopic to see people’s expressions, he often had to rely on his impressions… and the feeling he had now was that there was a certain stillness in the room after these words. He had no idea what had caused it for a moment, but then he stared at Sir Hector. The implication of Baldwin’s words was that there was other evidence, surely.

“There was the matter of the blue tunic, for example,” Simon said easily, taking up the baton again. “Wat always said that you had an evil temper, and that you might kill her if you saw Sarra wearing it when you had not given her permission. We thought he might have tried to oust you from leadership by sending her to you wearing it. He had been planning to supplant you for some time, according to Henry and John.”

“He would have been capable of it,” Sir Hector agreed, glancing at his guard. Wat shrugged.

“But even if he did, you would have been wrong to react to it by murdering her. No, this is what happened. The two men, Henry and John, stole the silver. Henry was inside, and Sarra arrived when he was in the middle of the robbery. He heard her approach, concealed himself, and then knocked her down. There being no other place to hide her, he shoved her into the chest, and got on with his task. Later, he left.”

“We thought,” Baldwin reflected, “that Adam then managed to climb in through the window and kill her before Henry and John could return to lock the window, but there is another possibility.”

Simon leaned forward, elbows on his knees, smiling, his goblet held negligently in one hand. “It’s this: someone else returned to the room, and Adam, waiting outside, heard him. He heard the chest lid being lifted, the murder taking place.”

“If he had, he would have told you,” Sir Hector objected.

“No, possibly not. After all, he had a dislike of officials that was close to a madness. He distrusted any man in a position of authority, as we discovered. And I suppose he might well have thought that it would be easy for you to accuse him of bad blood because of your affair with his wife. You had the perfect response to any accusation he made. I think it was that, more than the adultery itself, which unhinged his mind. The knowledge that there was no one who would look after his interests made him seek a more drastic means of redress. He killed his wife – well, he was going to anyway – and perhaps it was during a flash of rage that he regretted later. But he murdered Judith simply to add weight to our suspicion of you. The sad part is, he wasted a life for no good reason. All he achieved was to divert attention from you. When we found the body of Mary as well, it was clear that some devious scheme was in progress.”

“Do you mean to accuse me?” Sir Hector thundered, standing suddenly. “Do you dare to suggest that I killed the tart?”

Baldwin eyed him coldly, then meditatively refilled his pot. “Adam was sure you went back in and stabbed the girl. Why? He would recognize you on sight, wouldn’t he? But if he was outside, Henry and John had barred the shutters giving on to the road. Adam could not have seen in. All he knew was that someone was there, and he had heard that only you, Sir Hector, and your most trusted men were allowed into your private rooms. He heard a noise – Henry and John had gone and were not yet inside – so whoever it was, it must be you.”

“But that’s rubbish!”

“Yes, it is,” Simon agreed.

“What?”

“Adam didn’t know that someone else could also get in – the man who had to fetch the salt for your meal. Your servant, Wat.”

Sir Hector’s mouth fell open, then he turned to face his guard.

Wat was immobile for a moment. He wetted his lips, whirled, and took a half-step toward the door, but his way was barred by three of Peter Clifford’s men, all with stout cudgels in their hands. Tanner stood with them, grinning, his hands in his thick leather belt.

“Wat,” said Baldwin solemnly, “I accuse you of the murder of Sarra, a worker at the inn. You will be taken to the jail until you can be tried. If you resist… Well! I almost wish you would!”

The blustering mercenary had to be bound and led away, furiously rejecting all responsibility. It took the combined efforts of Stapledon’s men and Tanner – Hugh gave encouragement from the fringes of the melee, but managed to avoid participation – to restrain him, but at last he could be removed by a gleeful Sir Hector. While Baldwin went with them to the jail, Simon and his wife retired to their chamber.

“How are you?” he asked as she sat on the edge of their mattress. She looked dreadfully pale, and her eyes were half-closed, though the room was dark with the shutters barred against the cold darkness outside. He squatted by her and gently held her hand to his face.

“I am fine, now. Honestly.”

“You are safe, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“I thought I was going to die, for a while.”

“So did I. I hated standing there. Baldwin wouldn’t let me try to help you, and I…”

She shut his mouth with a finger. “It is over now.”

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to hold you again. I thought I was going to lose you. I love you.”

She smiled at the whispered words. “I love you too. I promise I will not leave you until you have a son.”

“I do not care about that right now. All I want is to see you well again.”

Margaret’s eyes closed, but then she remembered the conversation in the garden, and she sighed.

“What is it?”

“The Bishop was talking to me about Rollo when that man attacked us. Simon, I want us to have our own boy, not another’s. Is that selfish?”

“Selfish? Perhaps – but if you think I want any reminder of this afternoon, you are wrong. I couldn’t bear to have him in our household either. Don’t worry, I shall tell the good Bishop.”

When he returned to the hall, Baldwin was already there, seated near a frowning Stapledon. Peter was at the church exhorting the workmen to continue, and the three were alone for a while. After sitting in silence for some minutes, the Bishop peered at them. “Sir Baldwin, Simon, I must be more dense than I had realized, for I still cannot see how you have arrived at this conclusion.”

Baldwin smiled at the peering bishop. “It is a great deal more simple now, dealing with the matter in retrospect, because we actually have the sequence of events.”

“It’s hard,” Simon said, pouring himself more wine, “when you begin an investigation like this. At first everyone is trying to help, but all that means is you’ve got to try to isolate what is important from the mass of details which are uncovered. All too often there is so much which is irrelevant.”

Baldwin held his hand over his goblet as Simon offered more wine. He had already drunk far more than usual. “As you know, it looked bad for Cole from the first,” he began. “A new man joining, who was found after a couple of days with silver on him when Sir Hector’s plate had all been stolen, and then the girl was discovered… It was apparent that he must have been discovered in the course of this theft, and had killed Sarra before she could raise the alarm.”

“But,” Simon interrupted, waving his goblet so freely that wine slopped on to the floor, “How could Cole have known that he would have time to rob Sir Hector? He was too new to be trusted by most of the men there. And how could one man have carried off so much metal? If he was involved, he would have needed an accomplice.”

“Simon is correct. It was obvious to me that others should be sought. Another thing was that the girl had been stored in the chest unconscious, and killed later. That indicated to me that the murder and the robbery were not necessarily connected. Thus, although Sir Hector could hardly be implicated in stealing from himself, he might have had a hand in killing Sarra.”

“Then there was the question of whether Cole would have robbed the mercenary.” Simon smiled.

Stapledon put his head on one side. “What do you mean?”

“If you were desperate, would you steal from a mercenary warrior? From a captain, at that?” Simon asked, then, seeing the Bishop’s rueful shake of his head, pounced triumphantly. “No, of course not! Why? Because a man like that would scare any but the most hardened warrior. Is it likely that a youngster fresh from a farm would dare to challenge him?”

“Perhaps he was too unworldly…?” the Bishop murmured, but Baldwin smiled and shook his head.

“It will not do, Bishop. He had seen Sir Hector at close quarters for more than a day, and in any case, he knew of such men – his brother had died, and one who had known him had returned to tell Cole how he had died. Cole could not have been so stupid or naive as to have missed how dangerous Sir Hector was. It was one final piece of evidence which convinced me though.”

“What was that?”

“When I thought about it, there were two pairs of assaults. Cole and Sarra were struck by someone with a club or similar weapon, both hit in about the same place; Judith and Mary both had stab wounds in the back. The only different wounds were young Sarra’s: stabs to her chest from having a knife thrust down at her – so forcibly that the knife penetrated the cloth behind her. Cole and she had both been knocked out with blows to the left side of the head. It was not proof on its own, but it was quite conclusive when all the other points were taken into account.”

Simon rested his elbows on his thighs. “Cole was unlikely to have been the thief, and equally unlikely to have killed Sarra. If we accept that people would prefer to rob anyone other than a mercenary leader, who would have dared? Surely only another mercenary!”

“It is clear now what happened,” Baldwin said. “Henry and John knew Adam from the last time they were here. When they met and drank again, the two told the butcher how sick they were of their master’s overbearing manner. They had worked out the details of their theft in advance, and asked Adam if he would help them, but he refused. However, they knew something he didn’t: his wife was having an affair with their captain. Maybe they told him, maybe they didn’t; but he assuredly went home and found his wife in bed with Sir Hector, and that sealed the pact. He went back and saw Henry and John once more, and agreed to help them.”

“I expect they thought he’d just beat his wife, which was no more than they believed she deserved for her whoring around, and would agree to help them just so that he could get even with their master,” Simon said.

“Sir Hector trusted them most of all,” said Baldwin. “He told them he had an assignation with Mary that afternoon, and they made their plans accordingly. He went out, as they saw, and they visited his chamber a little later, on the pretext of seeing him about a horse. They unlocked the back shutters – it was more private than the front – and then left. Once they were outside again, while John stood guard, Henry climbed inside, opened the front, and began passing the plate out to the others. Adam was needed to repel unwelcome witnesses, and he managed it by eviscerating some animals. That, in the heat of the afternoon sun, was enough to scare everyone away. People in the streets tend to keep moving. They do not hang around in one place too much; they have errands to run, messages to deliver, or some other purpose. The men could pass the silver out, stow it in the wagon under sacks or something, and remain undiscovered.”

“And when they were done, John helped Henry out again,” said Simon, “before they went inside once more to lock up the shutters.”

“Meanwhile, Wat had given the dress to Sarra to try on. He was hoping it would anger his master so much that Sir Hector would kill her – his rages were known well enough – but she arrived too early. Henry knocked her out and stuffed her into the chest to hide her.”

Simon nodded. “But while they were outside, before they could get back in to lock the last shutter, Wat entered. He was hoping Sarra would be dead. He had given her the dress, taking it to her room and letting her think it was a present from his master, knowing it would enrage Sir Hector to see it on another. Wat was sure the captain would do for her.

“He was acting as servant to Sir Hector, so he was often in and out of the solar, fetching things from chests. That day, he went to the chest and there he found the girl. I suppose he must have been confused at first, staring down at her and wondering what she was doing there, but I imagine he quickly thought that his master had put her there for some reason. It was a heaven-sent opportunity. Sir Hector had not killed her – but everyone would think he had! Just to make sure, Wat was prepared to spread the story of how angry Sir Hector would have been to find his dress on another woman. So he stabbed her, and slammed the lid down.”

Baldwin continued: “All this time Adam was outside, keeping an eye on things for his friends to make sure they were all right. He heard Wat in the room before Henry and John closed the shutter at the back, and assumed it must be Sir Hector. When he heard about the murder, he was sure Sir Hector had done it.”

“But in that case, why did he not merely tell you?” Stapledon frowned.

Baldwin shrugged. “I think he saw a way of disposing of his wife at the same time. How else could he get rid of the woman who had cuckolded him? It must have seemed an inspired plan to kill Mary and put the blame onto Sir Hector.”

“When did he kill his wife?”

“I have no idea. Probably during Tuesday. He was heard rowing with her then. She has certainly been dead some days.”

“Where could he have hidden her?” Stapledon wondered. “It is not easy for a man to conceal a corpse for long.”

“It is easier for some than for others,” Baldwin smiled dryly. “For example, Adam had a cool room to store his meats and carcasses. His apprentice has been refused permission to enter it just lately. I think we can assume that her body was secreted there for a few days.”

“The only question remaining is, who killed Cole’s brother?” the Bishop said.

Baldwin allowed himself to sink down further in his seat. “I am glad I have no jurisdiction over that matter. The death – if it was a murder – happened over the sea.”

“But do you know who did kill him?”

“I have little doubt it was Henry and John. According to others, they profited by his demise, but equally he may well have fallen in the battle. I fear I do not care: he was a mercenary himself, and knew the risks of joining such a company.”

“So,” the Bishop sighed, “we are left with the poor victims of this series of tragedies.”

“You are thinking of Rollo?” Simon asked tentatively.

“Yes. The poor lad needs to be looked after.”

Baldwin frowned. “I suppose we might find a place for him.”

“But we have a solution here,” Stapledon exclaimed.

Simon drew a deep breath. “I am afraid not, Bishop. Much though I’d like to help, I fear I cannot take the lad with me.”

“But…”

“No, we have lost a son, and it would be cruel to expect an adopted boy to take Peterkin’s place. He would upset us whenever he misbehaved or got something wrong, and if he was good and obedient, he’d be doing no more than what we’d expect. His life would be a misery, with no comfort or joy.”

“Simon, I think…”

“And I wouldn’t be prepared to allow Margaret to suffer it. Every time she looked at his face she would be reminded of her ordeal today, and that’s a slow torture I’m not going to expose her to.”

“Bailiff, if you would let me speak,” Stapledon smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of forcing the lad on you. I had thought of a much simpler solution – I shall take him to Exeter with me. He may be useful in the kitchen or stables, and if he shows an aptitude I can teach him. Who knows? If he shows any promise, in years to come he might be able to go to my college at Oxford. He can be assured of food and drink and shelter in any case.”

Simon sagged with relief, “Yes, yes. That would be perfect.”

Stapledon nodded happily, but then a small frown crossed his brow. “I wish I knew why that murderous fool had to kill Judith in the first place. It was such an evil act! How could he deprive Rollo of his mother, purely to create a spurious connection with Sir Hector in the hope that it would lead us to arrest him?”

“I think it might be simpler than that,” Sir Baldwin said gently. “You recall I said that people tend to hurry along a street? Well, there is one class which does not.”

“What do you mean?”

Baldwin took the jug and topped up his goblet. “One group in particular will stand in a certain place for a long time every day: beggars. Judith may have spotted something odd on the afternoon of the robbery, and when she heard of the theft, realized that she actually knew someone who had been involved. We shall never know for certain, but she may have mentioned the butcher to Sir Hector when we saw him knock her down. He might have thought she was threatening him. I have often noticed that guilty men hear what they expect to, rather than what is actually said. In this case, any mention of his lover’s husband would very possible make him leap to the wrong conclusion. Yet all Judith was doing was trying to curry a little favor after so many years of neglect by him – especially since most people believe Rollo was his son.”

“Talking of Rollo, didn’t you tell me he screamed when he saw the knight, when Hugh brought him here?”

Baldwin smiled. “Certainly. But then again, right next door to the inn is the butcher’s and Adam was there at the time. I think Rollo saw Adam as he came into the street. For Sir Hector, it was simply the first time he had ever noticed the boy, and he was a little shocked to be confronted with a son who shrieked like a banshee at the sight of him. I don’t know but that I wouldn’t blanch myself if that was to happen to me. Anyway, to return to Judith for a minute, I think it is fair to assume that any loyalty or softer feelings she may once have held for the knight dissipated quickly after he struck her. I expect she went to Adam to ask him for money afterward. What could be more natural than that after her attempt to help Sir Hector had been so publicly scorned, she should go to the other protagonist and demand compensation from him? From Adam’s point of view, killing Judith was not merely useful in forming a link in the chain of evidence against Sir Hector, it also removed someone who could have proved to be an embarrassing witness.”