Secret Murder: Who Shall Judge? (17 page)

Then Otkel decided it was time to talk with James Smith. He went over to the smithy, and looked over the merchandise. There was a handsome array of swords, axes, and hatchets, nicely polished, gleaming in the sun. His men crowded around behind him. They all appreciated a good sword. “I see you have quite a few of your new swords, James.”

“Yes,” James replied. “I’d like to thank you for helping spread around the news.”

“I’m sure you’ll be willing to let us have some swords at the same price as before.”

“I’m not so agreeable to that,” James replied as he shook his head. “Thorolf was famous and powerful. His name alone sold things. While I’m sure you’re a good merchant, so am I. I’d like to try doing my own deals. You and Thorolf made quite a profit with my swords, but they’re well known now. I think I can do business without your help.”

Otkel fumed.
This one’s going to be tough,
he thought. But he gave a strained smile to James. “Don’t forget, we offer you our protection as well as our services as merchants. Who knows what might happen without protection?”

James dropped his pleasant demeanor. The banked coals of his forge glowed red behind him, and wisps of smoke drifted past his face. He raised his hammer in one great sooty hand, and pointed with it to Matilda’s paddock. Matilda and Benedict were there, watching, and a number of merchants’ guards were standing idly by. Several of Ragnar and Olaf’s Northmen were strolling about.

Otkel snarled in the back of his mind.
Loki seize these busybodies,
he thought. His hand twitched toward the axe over his shoulder, but he restrained it. James had a hammer in his grasp, and smiths are among the strongest of men. He was silent for a moment, then spoke in a low and deadly voice. “You make a good argument, James. For your sake, I hope it is enough to comfort you when you are back at home in Northlanding.”

Then Otkel and his men departed. But they all knew that threatening Matilda the other day had cost them dearly, both from lost goodwill and lost fearsomeness.

“It might be wise to show everybody there’s no hard feelings over yesterday.” Otkel led the way over to Olaf’s booth, and examined his displays. “You have some very fine cloth,” he told Olaf. “Is there anything you might want in trade for it?”

“I’ve heard you have cinnamon and vanilla beans. My wife Aud cooks twice as well when she has spices to work with.”

“We have cinnamon and vanilla, tea from the east, cardamom, black pepper, and salt. Perhaps you’d like some dried red peppers? The Skraelings to the southwest say they warm up your blood. In the cold North, you might appreciate that. I certainly do here in Northlanding.”

One of Otkel’s men got some spices from a packhorse, and Otkel handed them to Olaf. While Olaf was sniffing and tasting, Otkel looked around. There was a bearskin drying on an improvised rack. He could smell the damp fur.

“Did one of your bearskins get damaged in the storm? It looks wet.”

Olaf snorted, and jerked his thumb backwards toward his booth. “A branch fell and poked a hole in our roof. I used the bearskin to protect the brocades. It’s a lot easier to clean bearskins.” He went back to tasting spices.

“It’s a bother to clean hides in the middle of a fair, and until it’s cleaned it’s damaged goods. You could sell us the skin at a discount, and let us do the work of cleaning?”

Olaf looked at Otkel, eyes and nose streaming. “Are you sure these red peppers are okay? Are they supposed to do this?” Then the two set out on a discussion of bearskins and spices, brocade and cypress.
By all the gods, I’m going to skin that bastard on this trade,
they both thought. But they were too evenly matched as merchants. In the end, the only skin involved had once belonged to a bear.

Otkel gave his spices over to Olaf, and silver as well, and his men began loading brocade onto packhorses. They covered the brocade over with the bearskin, to keep it from the dirt of the road, which was still damp enough that horses’ hooves could splatter mud. “We’ll send a horse back to bring you the cypress, and the rest of the spices.”

Otkel and the men went over to the tavern, where Otkel gave silver to Tony, the tavernkeeper. “That bargaining was thirsty work. Bring us ale.”

“Can I have some too?” came a voice from behind. Otkel turned, and there was Gervase.

This could be good or bad,
Otkel thought. “Good day, lord Bailiff. How is your visit to the fair going?” He stretched his hand out to the stump next to him. “Sit, sit. Join us.”

“I’m still searching everywhere to find who killed Thorolf,” the bailiff replied. “And I have troopers checking things out in Northlanding.” Gervase looked at the packhorses with admiration. “You seem to be doing good trades.

“You should know, your man Starkad was doing very poorly after you left. I sent over our physician with some of his finest medicines, and Starkad is much better now. The physician says it might be wise for him to rest in the solar, where his coughing won’t bother the rest of your men.”

Otkel nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll certainly arrange that.”

Gervase took a long draw from his mug of ale. “What the devil was so important you had to send Starkad out in weather like that?”

Otkel flinched inside. “It was
his
errand – he didn’t tell me what he was about.”

Gervase shook his head. “Foolish, foolish man!” He raised his hand to catch Tony’s eye. “Bread!” he called, as he waved a silver penny. Tony brought two loaves over, and Gervase and the men began to tear them apart and eat. Otkel didn’t appear hungry. He went straight back to his ale, instead.

Chapter 13

Wednesday: Decisions 

The shadowed corridor of elms leading to the abbey was even greener than before the storm, but leaves and branches, small and large, lay scattered about. Most of the large ones had been moved to the side, but there was still work to be done. The horses’ hooves were quiet on the soft, damp ground. “Stay with the horses when we get there,” Ragnar said to Ari and Atli as they rode. “I have careful talking to do. The fewer people there are, the less complicated it will be.”

Rather than the chaos of his last visit, the abbey pasturelands were dotted with fresh-sheared sheep and a few shepherds. The peasants, who’d been so busy with the shearing, were in the distance working their field strips. The three Northmen dismounted at the gatehouse. The brothers stayed to watch the horses, while Ragnar spoke with the gatekeeper. “I’m here to talk with Abbess Margaret or Father Hugh.”

“That’s a surprise,” the old man replied. “John Freemantle went to the fair to talk with
you.
”

“John and I were bargaining over the Abbess’ soothing salve. He told me I should really talk with
her
to learn what it works for. I was nearby on another errand, and decided to do so.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” the gatekeeper nodded. He summoned a messenger. Then he pointed to the bench beneath the oak, near the gates of the cloister. “She’ll meet you there.”

Ragnar sat on the bench, enjoyed the air and shade, and waited. In a few moments Abbess Margaret and Father Hugh came toward him. The Abbess bore a towel and a basin, and she washed his hands when she reached him. “Here again so soon after your last visit, Master Ragnar?”

If you have friends you fully trust

Go often to their house.

Grass and brambles surely grow

On the untrodden path.

“My friends, it’s good to see you again. But I had other matters in mind when I made this visit.”

“Oh?” asked the Abbess as she raised her brows.

“John Freemantle and I were speaking of that salve you make. I was wondering if you could tell me of its virtues.”

The Abbess was quiet in thought a moment. “It’s a new medicine. We’ve been sending out missionaries to the Skraelings, and one of their medicine men gave us the recipe in exchange for a steel hatchet. He said it was good against itching and hives and poison ivy, very good against mosquito-bite, and almost useless against wasp and bee stings.”

“I needed some the other day,” Father Hugh added. “It worked very well.”

“My homeland is filled with mosquitoes and biting flies. I should take salve back with me.”

“I don’t have much now,” Abbess Margaret said. “And I can’t make more until late summer when the herbs are grown. But I can give you some to try.” She sent the messenger to get a pot. “Next year, you’ll know how much you want, and I’ll have more experience making it. We can talk trade then.”

“Lady Margaret, this is more generous than I hoped. Tell me, who have you given the salve to? I can ask them how it worked for them.”

The Abbess thought a moment. “Except for using it here at the Abbey, I’ve only given it to the baron’s physician to try out.”

Father Hugh raised his head. “James Smith came by with a poison-ivy rash, asking if we had any remedy. I gave him some, too. It didn’t seem worth bothering you over that.”

The messenger returned with a small earthenware pot, covered with parchment tied in place. Ragnar took it. “Thank you, Abbess Margaret. Thank you, Father Hugh. Now I know who to talk to besides yourselves. The fair continues, I must return, but you both have my gratitude.” He rose, clasped Father Hugh’s hand, bowed to the Abbess, then went toward the gatehouse.

Ragnar mounted his horse, and so did Ari and Atli. They rode back beneath the trees.

“I think we should go talk with James Smith,” Ragnar said to his men.

After his short visit to the Fair, Gervase rode back to the castle. He’d had his talk with Otkel. Now he needed to check Otkel’s words against Starkad’s. He dismounted and gave his horse into the care of a stableman.

Dirk was waiting in the keep, busying himself with sausage and ale. “Starkad’s tale didn’t check out. He told me Otkel had him carry a message to Samuel the dyer. But neither Samuel nor his men saw Starkad, nor received a message through him.”

The bailiff shook his head. “That’s not Otkel’s story. He says it was a personal errand of Starkad’s, and Starkad didn’t tell him what it was about. A fine mess, hm? Well, at least we have that brooch from out by Ragnar’s booth.”

“I wouldn’t rely on that brooch. I was with Ragnar during that storm, and we couldn’t have heard a squad of excited horsemen outside. We should find exactly what Starkad
was
doing, now that we know some things he wasn’t.”

“Dirk, get the troopers and bring them up to my quarters. It’s time to pull together everything we know, and see if it makes a picture.”

Soon enough all seven men were there, Gervase and Dirk and five troopers. One trooper used a crutch. Gervase and Dirk talked of Otkel and Starkad and errands in the storm. Then Gervase held up the brooch. “Otkel told me Thorolf took this brooch from Snorri Crow six years ago, and that Ragnar might well kill Thorolf to reclaim the brooch for Snorri’s family. Just this morning, two of you and the gamekeeper found this out by Ragnar’s cooking fire. That’s suspicious–almost as suspicious as Starkad’s errand, hm?”

“We had to dig it out of the ground,” a trooper noted.

“Wait a minute,” Rhys said. “I saw that brooch in Otkel’s greathall after Thorolf’s pyre. I was with him, and went to the feast in honor of Thorolf’s memory. Otkel chopped open Thorolf’s treasure-chest, and was giving gifts. That brooch was right on top of the pile when they poured the chest out. It’s so handsome, I couldn’t miss it.”

“That’s enough!” Gervase roared as he slammed his fist down on the desk. “I’ve had it up to
here
with Otkel. First Starkad has an ill-explained mission out in the storm, then the day after the storm this brooch turns up at Ragnar’s camp. I don’t think it walked there by itself, and it’s no hard guess whose feet carried it.
Nobody
gets away with planting evidence to fool me.”

“Come dawn, when Otkel and all of his men are at their warehouse, I want to ask them some very pointed questions. Sharpen your points and sleep well tonight, men, and don’t talk to anybody. We’re getting up early tomorrow to give Otkel a surprise.”

Dirk rubbed his stubbly jaw with a rasping sound. “Otkel shot an arrow in the air. I hope he’s happy with where it comes down.”

At the fair, Ragnar and his men dismounted at the paddock, then walked to James Smith’s small blacksmith shop. They heard the clangor of an anvil, but it stopped when Ragnar hailed James out. Ragnar looked at all the passersby, then told James, “we must speak about your purchase of iron. Come with me to my ship.”

Ragnar and James walked to the ship together, followed by Ari and Atli. But at the ship Ragnar continued walking upstream, drawing James along with him. They went until they were well out of earshot from the fair. The river was high from the storm, and made enough sound rippling over a fallen tree that they were safe from being overheard. The roar of the falls made speech doubly safe. The trees were green and lush after the rain. It was noon, so they shaded the four men.

“Your iron is in danger of being confiscated by the bailiff. He seems to think I killed Thorolf Pike, and your law takes the property of criminals. He may yet arrest me and seize my goods. I hold you at least partly responsible for this, as you killed Thorolf and then did not announce your deed.”

James gaped.

“James,
somebody
had to have a reason for this killing. It was not robbery—Thorolf’s purse was left, and the horse not stolen. All we men of Surtsheim had strong reason to kill Thorolf, and many of you local merchants were very worried about Thorolf encroaching on your operations.

“The arrow that killed Thorolf had a shaft of maple rather than pine, suggesting it was a local person. My men and I have pine arrow shafts, for maple is uncommon as far north as Surtsheim.”

Ragnar held out the small jar of salve he’d gotten from Abbess Margaret, and wafted a bit of the odor at James. “This is a new medicine. I’ve smelled that salve only twice at the fair – once on you, once on the bailiff’s troopers. And the bushes where the archer must have hidden to shoot Thorolf from ambush are filled with poison ivy.”