Season of the Fox (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 2) (22 page)

Faucon shook his head as he thought of the pleykster. “I expect he’ll have to fund his own release as well, having no kith or kin of his own.”

“And you’re certain that the coins were left on the board as a payment for Sir Alain?” Colin asked, once more shaking his head, this time at how blatantly their sheriff’s aid could be purchased.

“Aye, I’m certain. That’s why the tally sticks were locked away,” Faucon said, emptying his cup. “Nanette didn’t want to give Sir Alain any chance to discover just how rich Bernart was. Like many men, I expect Bernart was paying less than he owed his king in tax, thus also shorting Sir Alain.” Alain’s pay was a percentage of the tax he collected.

Nor did Faucon doubt that Alina’s message to Sir Alain about her husband’s death had gone out the day before Bernart had died. He wondered how she’d conveyed to Alain what she’d wanted from him, if she’d stated it boldly or if there were some sort of ribbon that told a corrupt sheriff the coins on the bloody board were his once he’d rendered the correct verdict.

However, unlike those who plotted Bernart’s death, Alain knew he’d never even see those coins. That hadn’t stopped him from using Alina’s warning to set his dogs on his new Crowner. Colin poured a little more wine in his own cup, then offered more to his Crowner. Faucon shook his head, although in regret. The morrow would come too soon. It wouldn’t do to ride four hours to Blacklea on the morrow with an aching head, not when those same dogs might be waiting for him along the way.

“I take it your pattern found its mate this morning,” Colin said as he rose to put the jug back on one of his many shelves.

Faucon laughed at that. “Do you know, I never took those linen bits from my purse? I asked Peter who made Gisla’s shoes, just because I had to start somewhere. By the bye, William the Shoemaker returns your greetings with his own, thanking you again for that concoction you last gave him.”

“Do you mean to say you never even asked after Alina’s pattern from Will?” Colin asked in surprise.

Faucon gave a quick lift of his brows at that, his smile pleased. “I wasn’t looking for Alina’s pattern, or Nanette’s even though she’s the taller woman. Nay, I simply walked into the man’s shop, offered your greeting and asked about Hodge the Pleykster. That’s when your shoemaker started laughing, and told me the tale of a big man with small feet.”

The monk’s brow creased at that. “But how did you know?” he demanded. “I was so certain it was Alina who did this. Moreover, what of it if Hodge’s feet are small for his size? How could you know he was the one you sought, if you didn’t match your pattern to the one Will has in store?”

“Because Bernart’s workshop table was so tall and, consequently, so was his stool,” Faucon replied. This had been one of the insights that had awakened him this morn. “All day yesterday the idea of a smaller man slashing Bernart’s throat bothered me, although I couldn’t say why. Then last night, your Richard Alwynason ended the life of one of my attackers with the same stroke. It wasn’t until I’d slept on both deaths that I understood what I’d missed in the workroom. Bernart’s stool had him sitting high and the cut across throat started high. That meant the man behind him had to have been tall enough to start the cut from that point. Neither woman could have dealt that blow from such a starting position.”

Faucon turned his cup in his hand, staring into its empty depths as he shook his head. “Even more importantly, I don’t think Master Bernart would have allowed either his wife or his leman to come up behind him, not without turning to look at her. He was angry with Alina because he couldn’t be shed of her and angry with Nanette, who had unreasonably expected them to continue running their trade together once he took it to London. She may even have expected him to marry her, something I’m sure he would have cruelly refused to do. In his mind, she was barren and he wanted a son. And perhaps a younger wife.”

Then Faucon raised his empty cup to once more salute the monk. “Nay, I cornered my prey because of you, who knows this town like his own face. You told me there was only one man left in Stanrudde whom Bernart hadn’t betrayed. Thus, Master Hodge was the only one Bernart would trust enough that he wouldn’t look up when that man came to stand behind him. What makes this ironic is that Hodge was, in fact, the one man who had betrayed Bernart, doing so over and over as he bedded Alina. He’d even set his own seed into her womb because Bernart could not.”

The praise had Colin grinning. He made a show of tugging at a forelock he didn’t own. “My thanks, Sir Crowner. Glad I am that I could be of assistance.” Then he sobered. “Will any of them hang for what they did, do you think?”

“Who’s to say?” Faucon replied with a sigh, almost regretting that delivering the punishment owed to murderers wasn’t one of his duties as a servant of the crown. Nay, his only purpose was to identify them and confiscate the king’s portion of what they owned.

“Were I to guess, I’d say Nanette will,” he continued. “Unlike Peter, whose witnesses came forward immediately to pronounce his innocence, there’ll be no one she can call to swear to her character. Even if she protests that she wasn’t Bernart’s leman, using the fact that she’s never come to childbed, she remains an unwed woman. Now that the charge of fornication has been made, she’ll be stained forever by it, no matter the truth.” For that reason, Faucon was glad of his certainty before he’d labeled her thusly.

“Hodge will call his witnesses and they will come,” Colin said. “He has many friends in this town.”

Faucon nodded. So he’d seen at the hue and cry. “He could, but I think he won’t. His guilt is destroying him,” he countered. “Moreover, Hodge has already admitted he did the deed, speaking the words for everyone at Bernart’s wake to witness. He even went so far as to state the Nanette forced his hand by threatening Alina. Nay, if anyone lives beyond this act, it will be Alina. That she’ll do only because I know how much silver she has in store.”

“Poor Alina,” Colin murmured. “Unlike her daughter, she will never marry the one to whom she gave her heart.” He shook his head as if he grieved for Bernart’s widow when Faucon wasn’t certain the woman deserved it.

“Save for Gisla and Peter, who aren’t yet wed, I don’t know anyone who ever has married to please their hearts,” Faucon replied, shooting a quizzical look at the old man.

“I did,” the monk replied and smiled.

Although Faucon had intended to get an early start for Blacklea the next morning, Abbot Athelard had insisted he remain to share the midday meal. With no answer to acceptable to the churchman save ‘aye,’ Faucon lingered until it was well after Sext when he finally convinced Athelard that it wasn’t safe for any man to ride home in the dark.

After sending a message to Edmund that they’d be on the road in a half an hour, he went to the stable to see to his courser. Legate had enjoyed two days filled with hay and oatcakes, and even raised a complaint when his master began to check his shoes. But by the time Faucon had his saddle in place, his big white steed had resigned himself to returning to their more rural life.

“Sir Crowner? Oh, please be here,” a man called.

Faucon turned, his hands still working the saddle’s girth. “I am here,” he called back, lifting his head to see who came.

It was a young man dressed in blue and red. Faucon frowned a little, recognizing that color combination from the inquest, but not the household that used it.

The journeyman stopped beside him. “Sir Crowner, I come to you from Richard, son of Alwyna. He bids me tell you that, much to his surprise, he finds himself in need of your assistance. He reminds you of the bargain you two made.” The young man paused, his face filling with confusion. “He says I should tell you that two dead men travel to the abbey and Master Richard is need of a cesspit.”

Faucon stared at the man, beyond surprise. Two days? This, when Temric had seemed so certain he’d never see his repayment.

At his reaction, the journeyman shook his head and lifted his hands. “I know, his words seemed mad to me as well. But I vow to you, that’s exactly what he said to me. He said I was to say his words back to you in the same way. You should know that he’s injured with a broken rib,” the young man added, “so perhaps his mind is affected by pain.”

That stirred a quiet laugh from Faucon. “Dead men making their way to the abbey? Now that’s something I need to see. Do they walk or ride? On which road do these corpses make their gruesome journey?”

“Master Richard didn’t say,” the soon-to-be tradesman offered, sounding flustered. “But the master and his wife were traveling to Bristol when they found these dead men.”

Faucon blinked. Temric FitzHenry wasn’t married, or at least he hadn’t been when last Faucon visited Graistan. And if Faucon’s guess was right, chances were those traveling corpses had been breathing men when Temric first encountered them. This story got more interesting by the moment.

“Then I expect the Bristol road is where I’ll find these wandering corpses,” Faucon said with a nod, then laughed again. “Dead men traveling. Tell your Master Richard he can rest easily. I’ll find him his cesspit.”

I have broken all the bonds that should hold me. On this day, when I should be with my own family, chanting prayers for the dead, begging our Lord to lift the countless hapless souls trapped in Purgatory into Paradise, I am here, watching her. But is she not also lost here, trapped in this earthly Purgatory? Do I not have the ability to give her heavenly Paradise? These are the lies I tell myself. My Master bade me stay my hand, but, sinner that I am, I cannot bear to do so, not when I know the corruption that awaits her. I have the power to save her.

Hidden in the barren branches of a coppiced tree, I watch her race around her family’s fine home. Even in play, our Father’s light streams from her, once again calling to me. Her features are fine far beyond the crudeness of her life. Her skin is flawless, her hair a glorious golden-red.

I cannot fail her. She will have her heavenly reward.

Thank you for reading this second book of my new mystery series. I hope you enjoyed Faucon and his second investigation as his shire’s new Crowner. If you liked the book, or I suppose even if you didn’t, consider leaving a review. If you’ve found any formatting or typographical errors, please let me know by email at
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. I appreciate the chance to correct my mistakes!

I have to admit I once again totally enjoyed following Faucon, Colin and Edmund on their most recent next investigation. For anyone wondering, the idea of Alina and her 'woman's' trade, I read about the women’s guilds of Paris, which included embroidery as a trade. After looking at so many manuscript illustrations and Medieval paintings showing intricate designs on tunics and gowns, it occurred to me that Paris and nunneries weren’t the only place where women were making their living with a needle. Thus the purchase of embroidery ribbons by the dowager Queen Eleanor created by her namesake, Mistress Elinor.

I couldn’t resist adding just a peek into Sir Alain’s mind in this book. Truth be told, when I first conceived of this series, Alain’s voice was the one in my head. Then Faucon came along and everything changed.