The Crediton Killings

Only a little way farther on, Adam saw Paul, the i

“You see to the horse and get the carcasses inside,” he said, jerking his thumb behind, and the boy scampered out gladly.

“Well? What have you been doing then? Why did it take all day to fetch and kill two calves?”

“The mercenaries are back!”

Then she was suddenly still, forgetting to rail at him for his lateness, as he told her who he had seen on the road to Crediton.

2

The i

He was about to turn and re-enter his hall when he heard something strange in the bustle of the street. The cheerful cries of the water-carriers and hawkers changed, sounding more muted. People stopped their hurried rushing and stared; urchins craned their necks to peer past adults standing in the way, forgetting their games; a maid from the house opposite appeared, bowl in hand, and was about to throw the contents into the sewer when she stopped and gawped.

Following her gaze, Paul found himself wishing he did not have quite such a prominent alestake after all, but he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders with resolution, and scurried inside. “Margery? Margery, where are you?”

“What is it?” His wife appeared from the buttery, wiping her hands on her tunic. She was in the middle of boiling wort for the next brew of ale and could do without her husband bellowing. Eyeing him with long-suffering exasperation, she was about to give vent to her feelings when he waved excitedly at the door.

“There’s a troop of men-at-arms arrived with their captain. Quick, get the girls to help us; there are too many for us to cope with on our own.”

“We only have room for five…”

“They can’t stay, but we can at least provide them with food and drink. Food! I wonder if Adam has anything we could buy? Otherwise we’ll have to rely on the cookshop.”

She glanced from him to the door, her mouth opening, and then was still.

“Good day,” The confident tone of the knight’s voice pulled the i

“Master, how can we serve you?” Paul said quickly, and moved back to invite the man inside. While his wife watched, he led the stranger to the best seat in the hall, bowing and smiling all the way.

“This looks a comfortable enough i

“Ah, to join a great lord, I expect.”

“I would hope so. We came back to join the King in the north. Took a ship to London, and we missed him, so we went to York, and met with some of the commissioners, but they seemed to prefer raw youths rather than trained men-of-war. Well, they may regret that choice!”

“They refused you?” the i

The captain nodded curtly. “They rejected us out of hand, so we came back. But London was full of rumors of war. There were no ships to take us across to Gascony, for all vessels were heading north with extra provisions, and the prices were ruinous, so we decided to come this way. We’ll catch a ship from the coast in a few days.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have enough rooms for all your company, but there may be other places in the town where they can be quartered.”

“I would prefer them to stay here with me.”

“Of course, of course. But I fear we do not have room for them. No matter, I’ll seek out what can be…”

Catching sight of the captain’s unblinking gray eyes as he looked at her husband, Margery froze. The way he twitched his short cloak aside was unmistakably threatening, as was the way he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“I feel sure that your guests will understand my wishes, and will be happy to allow my men to take over their rooms. Now, I would like a quart of ale for myself, and I’m sure my men would also like some.”

“Yes, sir, of course,” Paul hesitated. “But I must say again, I am afraid the i

“We shall see.” The captain turned away; the meeting was at an end. “A quart of ale. Now.”

Leaving her husband to serve him, Margery hastened from the room and, lifting her skirts, rushed through the yard behind the i

At the back of the yard, she paused at the bottom of the steps to catch her breath, then clambered up to the room over the stables and hammered with her fist on the door. “Sarra, are you there? Sarra!”

There was a grunt, then a groaning enquiry. Margery cursed under her breath. “Open the door – quickly! You must come and help us. Sarra!”

A bolt shot back, then the door creaked open to reveal a peevish-looking figure. Margery pushed the door wide and stepped into the room. Sarra had been late to her bed the previous night, she recalled. The girl had been serving guests until the early hours, according to Paul, and had been near the goldsmith’s apprentice almost the whole night. The i

And she should succeed, Margery thought to herself, eyeing the young girl. She was not the type that Margery favored usually: she was too long in the leg and small in the bosom for a serving girl, but there was no denying that she had the right glint in her eye when a man took her fancy, and her face was that of an angel – though now it was the face of a disgruntled angel, with the indignant sharpness of someone woken too early.