Watching him, Jeanne was transfixed by shock. There was an acceptance of violence in his action, a precision in his slow torturing of the man, that sent a feather of horror tickling down her spine. She had never before witnessed such intentional cruelty toward another person. Her own suffering at the hands of her husband was a different matter, for she had known that she could cope with it-and a part of her even accepted it as her due for not being able to give her man the children he craved-but this deliberate infliction of pain on another made her soul cringe.
Long Jack walked forward stealthily, lifting each foot and setting it down silently. He had been left to guard the front of the stall in case the merchant’s cries of fear and groans of agony should attract other stallholders to his defense, and he had heard the first sarcastic jibes of his friends, but when all went silent, he had become anxious. Spying on them through the curtains of hanging cloth at the rear, he could see Lybbe gripping the man in a painful armlock.
“Do you want to find out how long it will take to mend a broken shoulder? It’s excruciating, so I’m told,” Lybbe continued conversationally, lifting the arm higher. Another cry of pain broke from his victim.
Long Jack pushed through the materials, using his cudgel to move the cloth aside as he came closer, ever closer. There was no sound but the rasping breath of Lybbe’s victim and the cold tones of the merchant. Long Jack got to the edge of the last hanging screen of material, and took a deep breath as he prepared to rush forward.
That was when Hugh hit him over his ear, and he fell like a pole-axed steer.
The sudden crack, rustle, and groaning sigh as the man fell made Lybbe look quickly over his shoulder. Hugh shrugged, and the merchant nodded. “Your last friend seems to be having a sleep now. What’s your decision, friend?”
“I give in, I surrender,” the man gasped.
Lybbe eyed him contemplatively, then kicked him hard in the base of the spine. The leader fell prostrate before the other two, who stared at their friend with angry consternation. “Get that garbage out of my stall, and don’t let it back here,” Lybbe rapped out. “You’re lucky. There are two of you, and two pieces of excrement to take away, so go!”
Hugh watched as the two men circled warily round the merchant and grabbed their friends. The unconscious man was dragged away, his head bumping gently over each tussock of grass, while the other had to be helped to his feet, cradling his sore arm, and led off.
When they had disappeared, Lybbe tossed his new cudgel up, spinning, and caught it again. “And now, ladies, after what you have gone through, and especially since your servant here has just saved me from a beating, you can have your choice of cloth for half-price.”
Simon and Baldwin stared as Lizzie hurled her cup at Holcroft’s head. He ducked and it hurtled past him, shattering against the far wall.
“Murderer! Killer! Coward! Why did you have to kill him? What had he done that many others hadn’t already-eh? Was it because you were so weak you had to kill him? You never dared speak to me much before, did you?”
Baldwin prepared to grab her in case she flew at Holcroft. “Lizzie, please, be quiet and explain yourself.”
“Quiet? Why should I be quiet? I accuse him, that man, our port-reeve, of killing Roger.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s always wanted me, ever since he first saw me in here. Because he spotted me going off to my room with Roger yesterday, and was waiting at the doorway when I came out. He didn’t come into the tavern afterward-he must’ve hurried after Roger and killed him.”
Baldwin glanced at Holcroft.
The port-reeve sat with his head lowered as if expecting another missile. He had never anticipated that Lizzie would accuse him of murder. Hearing her denounce him gave him a fleeting terror, as if her contempt had scalded his very soul. But somehow it made him feel easier, as if her outburst had destroyed his infatuation completely, leaving nothing, not even regret, in its wake.
The loathing in her voice had cured him of his love for her, whatever its cause. He lifted his head and met Baldwin’s gaze steadily.
“She’s right. I did want her, and I was devastated when I saw her leaving the room arm-in-arm with Roger. But I swear I had no part in his death.”
“You were there waiting when I left my room,” she blazed.
“Yes, I was. If I’d wanted to kill Roger, I would’ve been out in the road to ambush him.”
“Oh, rubbish. You had time to chase after him, to stab him and-”
Baldwin held up a hand. “Please, Lizzie, you have done enough guessing and accusing already. Calm yourself. Agatha-more ale! Now, Lizzie, tell us exactly what happened when you, er, finished with Torre.”
She glared at Holcroft as she spoke, her voice still trembling with anger. “I heard the bell for compline, and realized we’d been longer than I’d intended, so I got up and dressed while he was still in bed. When I told him that Holcroft here fancied me, he said he had had no idea. He was upset, thinking he might have made the port-reeve miserable by taking me from the tavern so obviously, especially since Master Holcroft had been arguing with him. That argument must have been very nasty, that’s all I can say!”
“Yes, and what then?”
Under his patient questioning, she organized her thoughts. “He dressed and went out. I was still braiding my hair and putting it right. I put on my coif, and had to retie my apron, and I’d missed one of my shoes, so I had to find that and then I went out. As I was shutting the door, I saw him, Holcroft, leaning against the doorway to the tavern.”
“So he was at the back door to the screens?”
“Yes,” she snapped, irritated by the interruption. “He stood there as I came out. When I walked toward him, he turned round and went away.”
Baldwin nodded. “Holcroft?”
“That’s all true enough. I had been waiting a while. I remember the sound of a door opening and slamming, and when I looked, I saw Torre. He saw me at the same time, and hung his head as if he was ashamed, and hurried past me. I waited some time longer, and was about to go back in when Lizzie came out. She looked right through me.” He sipped his drink. “I decided to go home.”
Simon cleared his throat. “Which way did you go, Holcroft?”
“Straight up the hill toward Brentor.”
“So the other way from Torre.”
“He must have run after Roger and killed him!” Lizzie proclaimed.
“Was Torre a fool?” Simon asked caustically. “Was he deaf? Are you telling us you think a man would walk down a road in the middle of a fair at night-time, and not turn at the sound of approaching feet? If he heard someone running after him, he would have readied himself in case he was to be attacked.”
“Not Roger. He knew his way around the town, he’d been here every year for ages. If he heard someone coming down the road after him, he’d just think it was someone in a hurry.”
“You’ve just told us that Roger was nervous at the thought of upsetting Holcroft here,” Simon pointed out. “If that’s so, he’d certainly have kept an ear out for any steps hurrying after him-unless he was a complete idiot! Who would turn his back on a man who thought his woman had been stolen?”
“I wasn’t his woman,” Lizzie said lamely.
“And what of Elias?” Baldwin asked. “You were sleeping with him earlier in the afternoon, weren’t you? Could he have become jealous of Torre for having you?”
“Jealous-what of? I’m no one’s wife; no one owns me, I live as I wish. Why should Elias get jealous of me?”
“Elias left the inn while you were out with Torre. He scurried back in later. It could be that he followed Torre and murdered him. He had to drink some ales quickly to calm himself, or so some have reported.”