Secret Murder: Who Shall Judge? (15 page)

Once Matilda was more awake, he smiled at her. “You came through the storm fine. I’ve been out checking. Your hay is a bit blown about, and there are stray branches in the paddock, but that’s it.” She smiled back.

“After we’ve had a bit to eat, and relieved ourselves, we can all work together to get things cleaned up.” Benedict was definitely thinking of moving his horses in with Matilda for the rest of the Fair.

Ragnar Forkbeard was up also, and had roused his men. Everybody had slept fully-clothed, just in case. Dirk Cachepol was sleeping near his bed, and Ragnar nudged him into wakefulness. “It looks like the storm is over.”

There was water on the floor, where a branch had poked through the canvas roof. There weren’t any goods there, and the men in that area had wriggled aside in their sleep. No harm caused, just a bit of annoyance.

When they opened the door, there was a considerably larger branch waiting for them. “It’s lucky
that
one missed,” Dirk said.

“That’s something you don’t have to worry about in a storm at sea,” Ragnar replied. “I think I’ll go check the boats.”

Ragnar sniffed the air. With all the traders, the fairgrounds had started to smell—inhabited. Now the air was clean again. Oh, he could smell the wet ashes from yesterday’s cook-fire, but that was a small thing.

Dirk looked over at the tavern, and saw Tony heating up cider.
It’s time to repay hospitality,
Dirk thought. He hunted up a bucket in the booth, then went over to the tavern to get some cider.

When he got back, several men had taken dry wood out of the booth, and were helping Gunnar set up a fire to cook the barley-mash porridge he’d promised the night before. Others were chopping up the fallen branch to add to the fire once it got going. Still others were cleaning up the area. He offered the cider to them.

Ragnar returned from his inspection, and went over to Olaf’s booth. He heard cursing from inside. He opened the door, stuck his head in. This roof had leaked too, over a stack of brocades. Olaf had covered them up with a bearskin, so the brocades were only a bit damp, but the bearskin needed serious cleaning before it could be sold. “What, more troubles?” Ragnar asked.

“It’s not that bad. But we’re going to have to patch the roof, and that was an exceptionally fine bearskin.”

“At least the boats weathered the storm,” Ragnar said. “We need to mend some canvas and do some bailing, but nothing serious. And Gunnar is starting breakfast.”

Olaf came outside to look. “Praise Gunnar, because Tony seems busy right now.” The tavernkeeper’s wagon was besieged by merchants who were too busy cleaning up to cook breakfast. He was struggling to deal with them all.

“I’ll wager his prices are higher this morning, too.”

“I don’t take bets like that,” Olaf replied.

Olaf’s men had come out of the booth, and were starting to set up frames for displaying cloth and drying the bearskin. Ragnar’s men were putting out the display tables, and one was standing on another’s shoulders to get the branch out of the hole in the roof and down to the ground.

“Give it a chance to dry before we try to patch that,” Ragnar spoke in the carrying voice he used at sea.

Dirk came up, chewing on bread and drinking cider. “I have to get back to Northlanding, and find out what happened with the bailiff and the highwaymen.”

“Travel well.”

Dirk went over to Matilda’s to collect his horse, and headed off down the road.

“You let him stay with you in the storm?” Olaf asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It can’t hurt to shelter him, and it might make him more favorable toward us,” Ragnar replied. “We may need favor. Gunnar had a vision last night, of the raven of death circling over us. I don’t think the vision was about the storm.”

When Dirk reached the castle, and gave his horse over to a servant, he was glad to see Gervase and four troopers on the muddy ground outside the keep. He went over to them. “It looks like you lived through yesterday.” Then he noticed with a hitch of his throat that one trooper was missing. “Where’s Thomas?”

Gervase saw Dirk’s flinch as he looked over the men. “Thomas hurt his hip when his horse threw him during an ambush,” the bailiff said. “He should be getting back to light work in a week or two. We killed two of the robbers outright, a third died last night, and one was hamstrung. I’d say we got off lightly.”

“Did we find out anything useful?”

“Well, there don’t seem to be any more highwaymen where those came from. But I don’t think they had anything to do with Thorolf Pike.”

“We need to talk about that.”

The two men went to the center of the courtyard, where they weren’t likely to be overheard. Dirk spoke first. “At the tavern, I learned a Finn saw Otkel putting up a rune-pole near where Thorolf was killed, on the day of his death.”

“Hm,” said Gervase.

“Ragnar and I, and four guards I borrowed from a merchant, went and got the pole and took it to the Northmen’s sacred grove. The priest there read the runes and said they were poorly done. He thought they were meant to draw wealth, but they could just as well have cursed half the merchants in Northlanding.”

“That doesn’t sound good. I was talking with Otkel, and he told me of a brooch. He says if Ragnar has it, the only way he could have gotten it was off of Thorolf’s body.”

“So both of us spent time with our suspects? When the storm hit, I took shelter with Ragnar.”

“Otkel helped me get the bandits’ camp-goods back to the keep before the storm. I gave him shelter when it hit.” Gervase chuckled. “He was trying very hard to convince me Ragnar was the killer. But I know enough to check everything Otkel says, before I believe it.”

Dirk grinned a stubbly grin. “If he told me his cat ate a mouse, I’d go interview the local owls to see if they’d eaten that mouse instead. Or if, perhaps, they were missing a mouse they were saving for dinner.”

“So, Dirk. What stories was Ragnar telling you?”

“Travel and trade, mostly. Storms on the sea. Only a few stories about Thorolf or Otkel.”

“Well, either he has a clean conscience or he’s being very cautious and quiet. Which did you think?”

“I think he has a clean conscience. But Thorolf and his men are outlawed from Surtsheim, so the laws of the Northmen would let him kill them with a clean conscience.”

“Tell me again about those three boatloads of rich cargo and suspects, Dirk.”

Dirk sighed. “I think we have to balance them against the warehouse of goods that Otkel and his Northmen are living in.”

The bailiff sighed in return. “
I
think we should do what Otkel suggested. Ragnar Forkbeard may have a brooch that he took from Thorolf Pike, who six years ago took it from the body of Snorri Crow.”

“Northmen are fond of genealogy, but I didn’t know they used it for their possessions too, except maybe for swords.”

“It matters here. Otkel suggests that Ragnar may have killed Thorolf, just so he could claim the brooch and return it to Snorri’s family. That sounds unfortunately like the way Northmen handle their grudges.

“Be it as it may,” Gervase continued, “it would be useful to know if Ragnar has the brooch. Otkel suggests Ragnar may have taken the King’s Deer, and served it up for the noon meal day before yesterday. I can testify they had venison stew, and where else would they get the venison?”

“They had big stores of jerky, m’lud. They could have made stew from that.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Dirk. I don’t think he actually
took
a deer, but it’s a fine excuse for searching his camp without raising his hackles.”

“Let’s send a couple troopers with the gamekeeper, just to give us eyes and ears of our own on the scene.”

“I can see that,” the bailiff agreed. “Now what I think we should do, I’ll get Otkel off to discuss the brooch while you talk with his men. See if Otkel was missing the evening Thorolf was killed, that sort of thing. And we’d better hurry, because they’ll head for the fairgrounds soon to start doing as much trading as they can.”

Gervase and Dirk detailed the two healthiest troopers to fetch the gamekeeper and bring him over to Otkel’s, and told the others to rest. Then the bailiff and his deputy set out on foot for Thorolf’s warehouse, no,
Otkel’s
warehouse.

A servant let them in the gate, and went to inform Otkel. Then he returned, and took the bailiff and his deputy up to the greathall. It smelled of food, and servants were clearing away bowls and spoons. Otkel and eleven men were there, all dressed for trade and looking ready to head out for the fair. Starkad was wrapped up in blankets, coughing and shivering.

Gervase went over to Otkel and took him to one side. “I need your help for a short while. You should describe that brooch to the gamekeeper so he’ll recognize it if he sees it.”

Otkel turned to his men. “Load the alum, then take it to the shop of Samuel the dyer. Get a receipt from his people, and bring it to the fair,” he told two of them. He looked to the rest. “Load up good samples of spices, cypress wood, and anything else you think people might want. Today, by Odin, we are going to make trades.” Then he and the bailiff left.

Dirk looked over at Starkad. “He seems to have caught a fever at the fair. Do you think it was from Olaf throwing him in the water?”

“Oh, it could have been,” Hermund said. “But Otkel had him running an errand in the storm. It’s probably that.”

“Isn’t
that
just like the man in charge. They laze about like lords, and leave their men to do the nasty stuff. The bailiff sticks me with the footwork every time.”

“You’ve got that right,” Starkad croaked. “When we were hauling the goods from our first day at the fair, when Thorolf was still alive, we couldn’t find hide nor hair of Otkel to help.” He bent double with coughing.

“Let’s not tell Otkel
or
the bailiff we feel that way,” Dirk grinned. Everybody laughed, and they trooped down into the warehouse to begin the day’s work.

The fairgrounds had been straightened out as much as possible. A few of the tents and pavilions had blown over. One had belonged to the copper merchant from across the sea, and while it was a nuisance, his cargo wasn’t the least bit harmed. He’d done some trading in the previous days, but it was mostly for iron and well-packed glass, which water wouldn’t hurt.

Other merchants had more delicate merchandise. Today, there would be bargain-sales for damaged wares. Most of the cloth merchants and the like, whose goods could be ruined by rain, had doubly-sturdy pavilions and had come through the storm well.

The sun had begun to bake the mud back into something solid. Ragnar’s goods were on display, though he wore plainer clothing and boots than usual. He’d had a few tentative bargaining sessions, mostly with merchants working out of booths rather than tents.

He saw Otkel and his men approaching up the Northlanding road, leading pack-horses covered with goods.
It looks like he’s ready to trade,
Ragnar thought. And sure enough, they went right over to Samuel the dyer. Otkel showed Samuel a scrap of parchment, and Samuel reluctantly went to his stores and handed over a large box of something. Otkel looked inside, smiled and nodded, and shook Samuel’s hand. Then Otkel and his men moved on.

“It looks like Otkel is reduced to honest trade,” Olaf said from behind.

“He and Thorolf always did give value for value received,” Ragnar replied. “But their deals were harsh. That dyer didn’t look happy. I suspect he barely broke even on the trade, whatever it was.”

Ragnar watched Otkel and his men make the rounds. They seemed to be concentrating on the local merchants.
He must be trying to pick up momentum from people who are used to giving him deals,
Ragnar thought.
He can bargain with them any time. I wonder when he’ll start leaning on outland traders? Still, Otkel seems to have some good merchandise. Maybe they have some decent spices? It might be worth it just to see Otkel’s face if I offered to trade with him.

John Freemantle came up then, bearing samples of wool. Ragnar hailed him. “John! I hope you spent the night well!”

John smiled. “The abbey walls are good, and the roof even better. And we managed to get our sheep under cover, so even freshly-sheared they weren’t harmed by the storm. Now, about the wool.…”

“Olaf wants wool, and I want some too. We need warm clothes on our steadings up north. And what do
you
seek?”

“We need shears. Our flocks keep growing, and more shears would help us deal with them. And Sister Katherine, in charge of our meals, admired the eating knife you gave me. She wonders if you have more, but less elaborate and expensive.”

“The knives are easy.” Ragnar lifted a chest onto the display table. “These are less expensive. Look them over.”

While John was examining the knives, Ragnar saw three men approaching from the direction of Northlanding. When they were closer, he recognized two of the bailiff’s troopers. The third was a stranger. As they approached his display, a pleasant scent of autumn herbs came from the troopers, especially noticeable in the morning’s clean air.

“May I help you, good gentles?” he asked them.

“I’m the gamekeeper for Northlanding,” the stranger introduced himself, “and there are rumors you have taken the King’s Deer. I’d like to check your area to see if there’s any evidence of that.”

“Why, of course! I’ll not stand in your way. Our cooking area is between my booth and the next.” Ragnar’s stomach sank.
Did somebody see that deer? I hope Gunnar disposed of the remains as well as he said.

Gunnar was adding dried peas to the stewpot when he looked up and saw three men coming his way. A raven was flying above them.

“The raven,” he whispered.

Chapter 12

Wednesday: Evidences

“You are Gunnar, the cook for this encampment?”

“I am. And who might you be?” Gunnar asked. A raven croaked in the tree above, which had one branch fewer than before the storm.

“I’m the gamekeeper for Northlanding, and I’ve heard that somebody took one of the King’s Deer and gave it to you to cook.”