Sword of Shadows, page 22
‘Cease your struggling, damn you. You murdered a man and must face the king’s justice.’
‘I murdered no one! Get off me!’
‘Stop fighting me.’
And just as he said it, the man went limp. Tears sprang to his eyes. ‘I murdered no one,’ he whimpered. ‘No one.’
‘Two men were killed up in the castle.’
His wet eyes widened. ‘Two men?’
‘Yes. Two men. Roger Bennet and Thomas Dunning, another knight.’
‘I … I do not know this other man.’
Narrowing his eyes, Crispin got off Penhall and offered his hand to lift him up. Penhall took it and stood before him, head bowed.
‘Penhall, God save you if you are lying to me. I can assure you, the hangman will seem a relief after the suffering I will mete out.’
He took a horrified step back. He glanced back at the staff, now lying some distance away, and clutched his hands together. ‘I’m not lying, Master Guest. I swear by Almighty God.’
‘Then you killed only Roger?’
‘No, no! I swear. No one has died at my hand.’
‘You were at the castle?’
‘I …’ He looked away. Kenal was long gone to the manor house and nothing but cows grazed along the hills. One looked up and lazily stared in their direction, jaws working on its cud. ‘Yes. I was at the castle that day.’
‘And what were you doing there?’
He panted, wiping the sweat from his brow, eyes searching the hills, the farm. ‘Please, Master Guest. You must understand …’
‘I understand murder and the hangman. There is no compromise between them.’
He clutched his fingers together and brought them up to his mouth in prayer. ‘Jesu, mercy! You don’t understand. You’ll never understand.’
Crispin folded his arms. ‘Try me.’
The man wiped his face again, his moist eyes. ‘Do you have children, Master Guest?’
He hesitated. ‘One. A son.’
‘Ah. A son. Perhaps a son is so much easier. He becomes a man and you need not fear for his future. But a girl … I have a daughter, Master Guest. Only the one. And she is most dear to me. A pearl, a blossom. She must find a husband to care for her, to inherit the land I leave behind. But finding the right man is a trial. And we found him … or so we thought.’
‘Roger Bennet.’
‘Yes. And he … he seemed eager to gain a place in our household. A knight, a man of property in his own right, though distantly in Kent. It was arranged that he and my daughter would wed, though we had not signed a bargain as yet. And then I discovered his nature. That he had many women in the village. But … he still agreed and I was willing to overlook it. And … and my daughter, too, for she had discovered it as well. But the last time he was here to supper, my daughter and he had a great argument. Such words! The whole household could hear it. There was no place for them to go to keep it quiet from the servants.’ He wiped his face again, shaking his head.
‘What did they argue over?’
‘She insisted that he be faithful after they were wed. It isn’t an unreasonable request from a wife to a husband. The scriptures tell us that adultery is a great sin. But … but he was a man and men …’
‘I see. He refused her, then?’
‘He did. And she sent him away. But her anger did not abate. She … she …’ He began to weep, great beaded tears.
‘She went to the castle.’ Crispin rubbed his chin. ‘And … you went after her?’
‘Yes, yes!’
‘Did she confess to you that she had killed him?’
‘No. She would say nothing of it. But I weep for her, Master Guest. I weep! My only daughter! My only child!’ he wailed. ‘Can you not find it in your heart to leave us in peace? She was wronged. Surely there is a place in the king’s justice for a woman wronged.’
‘I’m afraid not, Master Penhall. Please take me to her now.’
‘Please, Master Guest. I beg you.’
‘Don’t unman yourself, Penhall,’ he hissed.
Penhall wiped his face with his sleeve, and attempted to stop his blubbering. Crispin felt for the man. Had not his own son stood accused of murder? Crispin hadn’t had to make the choice of what he would have done, had it truly been so.
Penhall dragged himself toward the house and once he came indoors, he called up the staircase, ‘Janet! Janet, my love, are you here?’
A door opened and footsteps tapped across the gallery before a lithe young woman peered down over the side. ‘Father? What’s amiss? Oh. Who is this gentleman?’
‘Daughter, go to the solar. We will meet you there.’ He turned to Crispin, hands imploring. ‘At least listen to what she has to say. It might have been self-defense.’
‘I will listen, Master Penhall. But you must prepare yourself for the worst.’
Penhall, still quietly weeping, led Crispin up the stairs, dragging his feet the whole way. When they reached the solar, he gave Crispin a last pleading look before opening the door.
The girl sat at the window, looking out, but when they entered, she turned. Pink-cheeked, wide-eyed, and plump in all the right places, she was the very image of fruitful womanhood. Little wonder she had caught Roger’s eye. But some of the other women were equally comely. And, he had to remind himself, Kat had bedded Roger too. He couldn’t help feeling he was glad that Roger was dead.
‘Father, what is the matter?’ She rose from her seat and reached for him, laying gentle hands to his chest, hands that were raw and red from work. They weren’t as genteel as Penhall seemed to want them to be. His daughter was not a wealthy lady to sit at her embroidery. In fact, he saw nothing of the sort in the stark solar. No embroidery frame, no tapestry. Only a crude mural painted on the wall in washed-out colors. She was a working lass. In another day, Crispin would have scoffed. Now, he thought it a most useful occupation. After all, Isabel Tucker took in sewing to earn a penny or two, and she with three children to tend to and another on the way.
Her father couldn’t answer her, so bereft was he. He enfolded her in his arms instead, and wept on her shoulder. She comforted him in puzzlement, looking at Crispin for help.
‘Demoiselle, I am Crispin Guest, Tracker of London. You have met my apprentice, Jack Tucker.’
‘Oh. Him. Yes.’
‘I regret to say that I am here to arrest you for the murder of Roger Bennet.’
He expected many things. That she would hurl a curse at him, that she would rave, scream denials, throw crockery.
But all she did was scoff and huff in disgust. ‘Don’t be absurd,’ she cast over her shoulder. ‘Come, Father, sit down here.’ She led him to the chair she had vacated in the window. He sat but would not be consoled.
She patted his shoulder. ‘Come now, Father. You know it isn’t as bad as all that.’
‘Child,’ he cried. ‘He will take you away and hang you.’
She eyed Crispin up and down before throwing back her head and laughing.
Crispin shifted on his feet.
‘No one is going to take me away. I didn’t kill Roger.’
‘But … Janet …’
‘I didn’t kill him, Father. Oh, I wanted to. And perhaps, had I found him, I could have … I was certainly ready to, with my bare hands. But I could not find him. And I wasn’t going to search all over that island looking for him.’
His tear-wet face rose and he looked on at her with renewed strength. ‘You didn’t?’
‘Of course not. The Devil take him. I pray that he has.’
‘Demoiselle,’ said Crispin sternly, ‘your father is of the opinion that you did.’
‘Father!’
‘You would tell me nothing! I had to assume the worst.’
‘By the saints! My own father!’
‘Forgive me, daughter.’
They embraced again, and Penhall fell to weeping once more.
Resting a hand on the hilt of his sword – and wishing he could draw it – he sighed. ‘Demoiselle, have you proof of your innocence?’
‘Well …’ She peered over her father’s shaking shoulders at him. ‘I asked a caretaker where Roger might be when I first arrived, and he told me that he hadn’t seen him, and that he could be anywhere on the island or the mainland. He saw me turn around and head for home. And that is when my father arrived to fetch me.’
‘The caretaker’s name?’
‘Oh … John something.’
‘John Palliser.’
‘Yes, that’s it. Is that proof enough?’
He measured her carefully. There were few who could be as cool as this and lie. Kat Pyke could do it … but he doubted this one could. He’d ask Palliser to verify, but his gut already knew the answer. ‘Do you know a Thomas Dunning?’
‘No. Your apprentice already asked me.’
‘He was murdered too. At the castle.’
‘Surely if I didn’t kill Roger, I’d not kill this other, whom I have never heard of.’
‘Yes.’ He rocked on his heels. ‘Very well, Mistress Penhall, Master Penhall. I will assert your tale with John Palliser. And, for the time being, I shall leave you in peace.’
‘Forgive me if I say it, Master Guest, but I and my father would be grateful if we never had to set eyes on you or your apprentice ever again.’
The feeling is mutual. But he said nothing aloud and bowed instead.
TWENTY-FOUR
Such a strange little village, thought Crispin. So many ills woven together in a most appalling tapestry.
He left it behind to return to the castle. The gentle gait of the horse helped him contemplate just who might have killed Bennet and Dunning. It seemed too coincidental to be two separate murders, and Dunning’s would have little to do with a crime of passion. So many in the village wanted to kill Bennet. But Dunning was a strangely singular situation. Someone had been so desperate they had stolen across the plains, skulked on the roof of the chapel while Crispin and company had been inside it, and dispatched him then and there, in danger of discovery at any moment. Was it to hide the first murder? And if it were, why? Had Dunning seen something he shouldn’t have? And if he had, why hadn’t he come to Crispin to tell him? Who would have been so bold as to kill him when potential witnesses fairly swarmed the place?
Someone sure of themselves. Someone with a deep motive. Someone like … Kat.
How he hated to think it of her. But she had killed before. She had said it was self-defense, but that case had been so convoluted, and part of that had been her fault. She had enticed others to kill for her, though she claimed she hadn’t. It wasn’t something Crispin had been willing to prove. She was supposed to keep out of trouble if he let her go. He had done so in good faith. Well, that’s what he got for trusting such a woman.
He was sour when he reached the castle. He found Jack and Teague decidedly wet and with their soaking clothes drying before the fire.
Then Kat appeared, wearing what looked like Jack’s old things – chemise too long and hanging nearly to her ankles – while she arranged her wet clothes before the smoky hearth.
‘What is all this?’ he demanded. He couldn’t help but feel it was her fault.
‘We had a bit of a swim,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Nothing so prosaic,’ said Teague, and he eagerly turned to Crispin. He was in just a chemise and sagging stockings. ‘Adventure, Master Guest! Adventure! We think we found the Sword Excalibur!’
Crispin could scarce believe it, and he turned to Jack.
He nodded. ‘It’s true, sir. We think we found it in Merlin’s Cave.’
Excitement thrummed in his chest. ‘Then where is it?’
‘Still there, sir,’ said Jack, pulling a flannel over his wet curly hair. ‘The tide was coming in on us. We could have drowned.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Teague. ‘But it was stuck fast in a secluded pool. Looked like a beam of wood left from a shipwreck.’
‘What makes you think it wasn’t?’
‘Master Guest! No, no. It felt hollow. Like a box. Didn’t it, Jack?’
Jack screwed up his mouth, thinking. ‘Aye. I have to admit that it did.’
‘Well …’ Crispin forgot about murder, forgot about the Penhalls and Jory Gloyn and Menhyr Rouse. ‘When does the tide go out?’
‘Not till the evening,’ said Teague. ‘We should ready torches to go back out there. Are you with us, Master Crispin?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘God grant us success in our mission!’ he crowed.
‘And what of your own mission?’ asked Jack. ‘Where’s Penhall?’
Crispin sighed. He poured himself some ale into a cup and drank. ‘It seems Penhall went to the castle to fetch his daughter, afraid she was committing murder.’
‘Oh. And did she?’
‘No. At least I’m fairly certain she didn’t. I’ll need to corroborate her story with John Palliser, but I’m fairly certain he will.’
‘Then we’re out of suspects again?’
‘Not entirely. I’ll have to think about it.’ His gaze slid unintentionally toward Kat.
‘In the meantime, I think I’ll prepare us some repast,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t mind saying that was hungry work.’
‘And did you behave yourself, Mistress Pyke?’ asked Crispin, now intentionally gazing at her, particularly her bare legs.
‘I always behave myself. Didn’t I, Jack?’
Jack grunted and left to take care of their meal.
Like the last time, they eventually wandered into the kitchens to eat their food. Teague spoke animatedly about the soon-to-be-discovered Excalibur, while Jack listened intently to him. Kat, on the other hand, kept shooting Crispin surreptitious glances while Crispin himself brooded. He didn’t want Kat to be guilty. That was foremost in his mind. But he couldn’t let her get away with it a second time. No, he’d take his stand on that. No matter how fond of her he was, it couldn’t be allowed.
When they were finished, Jack and Kat cleaned the pots and bowls and set them aside to dry. Jack leaned into the window and looked up at the sky. ‘When should we venture forth again, Master Teague? Do you think the tide is out sufficiently?’
‘Would you prefer to go down to the beach and wait, Master Teague?’ asked Crispin, trying not to sound too eager.
‘I think that would be most expeditious. Let us find something to bring us light.’
Jack found two metal cages on pikes, with fuel in them enough to stay lit for their purposes. He lit one from the kitchen fire, and saved the other for when they got to the cove.
They found clothes to change into – Kat was in her men’s clothes again, since she said her other gown was at the troupe’s wagon – and they set out.
Instead of taking all the horses, they hitched up the cart horse, and climbed onto the cart themselves. Crispin sat beside Teague, while Jack and Kat sat in the back of the cart over the canvas-covered tools and crates.
They tried to be quiet, but once they were outside the castle gates, Jack leaned over toward Crispin. ‘I can’t believe it wasn’t Jowan Penhall, sir.’
‘They have an alibi. At least one I must make certain of from John Palliser.’
‘By the sound of it, Roger Bennet was a right piece of work.’
‘He was a terrible man,’ said Teague.
Crispin stared. Carantok Teague had said very little about the dead man all this time. ‘And why do you say that, Master Teague?’
‘Oh … he was thoroughly unpleasant. He liked to tease, to harry me. I caught him spying on me once, and I had to divulge what I was doing. I even …’ His voice trailed off, perhaps realizing what he was saying.
‘You even what?’ asked Crispin.
He muttered to himself, cursing, when he suddenly sighed and seemed to surrender something. ‘I had to bribe him to keep silent.’
‘My brooch!’ cried Kat.
‘My brooch,’ said Teague with some irritation. ‘Well … he found it and considered it payment. Taunted me with that, too.’
‘Well, well,’ said Crispin. ‘What a creature he was.’
‘And that’s not the half of it,’ said Teague. He was warmed up now and suddenly seemed bubbling over to talk about him. ‘He harried the other men. And poor John Palliser. Did you know he was writing a history of Tintagel, a most scholarly pursuit?’
‘Yes, he’d told me.’
‘Did he tell you that Bennet stole his manuscript and, while reading it aloud to his fellows, began tossing pages into the fire?’
Crispin couldn’t help but grit his teeth at the burning of a book. ‘The churl.’
‘Yes. And when Palliser arrived and caught Bennet at it, he flew into a rage. Said he’d kill him if he ever set foot in his chamber again. He managed to snatch the remaining pages of the manuscript, but I saw his face. Oh, he was in a right rage and quite devastated at the loss. All those pages. He would have to write them again. And all because a drunken Roger Bennet was bored. I can’t for the life of me even blame his murderer.’ He crossed himself quickly after that, but his mouth was set. He had no love for Roger Bennet.
‘Have you any similar tales of Thomas Dunning?’
Teague maneuvered the cart over the steep path down to the shore. They would soon arrive at the place where they would have to leave the cart. ‘That’s the strange thing. For Dunning seemed to keep to himself. I didn’t know him very well. He always had little to say. I can’t imagine who would have killed him, or why.’
‘It is a puzzle,’ said Crispin.
‘None of the men seem to want to be here,’ said Jack.
Crispin adjusted his seat. The cart wasn’t nearly as comfortable as his horse. ‘John Palliser seemed to want to be here. He didn’t mind it. He told me he came with Prince Edward and stayed on, expecting to retire soon to the local monastery.’
‘Then he’s the only one.’
Crispin turned. ‘Mistress Pyke, how did Roger Bennet seem to you?’
‘Carantok has the right of it. He was a thoroughly unpleasant gentleman, and I’ve met a fair few.’
