The Final Toll

by Denise Domning

  Sir Luc offered her his crooked smile and a quick shrug. "I didn't bring this man to Offord, Milla. Adam did." He looked at Faucon. "My pardon, but who are you again?"

  "I am Sir Faucon de Ramis, our shire's newly-elected Keeper of the Pleas," Faucon told Milla the Cook. "By the king's decree, I now examine the bodies of the murdered and call inquest juries from the hundreds. Sir Adam brought me to Offord this day because the manner of Sir Robert's death concerns him."

  That teased a single harsh laugh from Milla. "It's not Sir Robert's death that concerns him," she muttered in English.

  She again looked at Sir Luc. "So you didn't bring the man to Offord, but why do you bring him here to disturb the peace of my humble home?"

  "Because I'm hungry," Luc replied swiftly, his smirk growing into a full grin, "and Sir Faucon wished to speak with me in private. Before you ask, I am still banished from the hall," he added, "so feed me at your peril."

  This time, the woman's laugh was more natural. Her fondness for the knight filled her face. "Everything I've ever done for you has been at my peril. What is one more perilous deed?"

  Setting down her bowl, she crossed the room to stand in front of the red-headed knight. With a tsk, she touched a finger to his bruised jaw. "Look at you," she said with a shake of her head. "For shame. I vow you've learned nothing since I had you at my breast. Only an idiot steps between a man and his wife."

  "Then I am an idiot," Luc replied as he moved his head out of her reach, still smiling. "But it's good to know that you still love me enough to chide, Milla."

  "And I will always chide," she told him, scolding still, "because you will always behave foolishly."

  "Prove how much you care. Feed me and give me a cup of Sir Robert's wine to wash down the meal." In that instant Luc sounded as cheeky as little Martha.

  "You!" Milla retorted in amusement. "You'll get no wine from me and the only thing I can offer your empty belly is yesterday's bread and this morn's fresh cheese. However, Lady Bagot has me making a posset. It's almost finished. Should that suit, I've made more than enough for you to have a cup."

  "I love your possets," Sir Luc replied happily. "With that to drink, even bread and cheese will be the grandest of meals."

  His comment only made Milla laugh again. "And what of you, sir?" she asked Faucon. "Will you eat and drink as well?"

  "A taste of the posset would be welcome, goodwife," Faucon replied, as pleased as Sir Luc at the invitation. There was nothing better on a blustery cold evening than a posset– milk flavored with honey and spices then seethed with wine and eggs until thickened.

  Milla nodded, then looked at the lad who yet sat on the floor by her worktable. "Nobby," she said in English, "take our stools close to the fire for these knights. After that, bring me two wooden cups from my chest for their drink and prepare a tray for Sir Luc. He'll have a loaf of yestermorn's bread— the manchet, not the brown bread— and two scoops of that cheese I made."

  "Aye, mistress," the boy replied as he came to his feet, brushing his hands clean of the herbed sand he'd been using to scour the pot.

  Moments later, Faucon sat crammed between bags and barrels, but near enough to the hearth to warm his face. He cradled a wooden cup in his hands. For the sake of space, they'd arranged their stools on the opposite side of the fire from Milla's worktable.

  Beside Faucon, Sir Luc had a wooden tray balanced on his thighs, his eating knife resting on its edge. The knight held his cup clenched between his knees. As Luc broke the stale flat bread into pieces, he looked at his Crowner. "So what is it you wish to ask me?"

  Given that there was now a legitimate wrongdoing at Offord to investigate, Faucon started there. "Do you know that Sir Robert's bell went missing last night?" he said to the knight.

  "The bell cannot be found?" Sir Luc replied, eyes wide, then returned his gaze to his meal as he shook his head. "Poor Joia! She's not only lost her father, but now our favorite plaything as well."

  "I beg your pardon?" Faucon eyed the knight in surprise.

  Luc shot him a quick look and shrugged. "Bagot and Offord. Our families have been close for all my life, and Joia's. So it has been even though Sir Robert wed Joia's mother, the woman my father had been determined to wed to Adam. Joia is but a year younger than me, and we were often playmates. On those occasions when my family visited Offord, Sir Robert would allow his daughter to bring out his bell. As children, she and I could play for hours with it, making up stories about who we were and why we needed to ring that bell, and of course, making as much noise as possible. She was forever after her father to assure her it would always be hers. Each time she'd ask, Sir Robert would give her his vow, then laugh and tell her his word was all in play, that Offord was her dowry, not the bell."

  Faucon considered his fellow knight. "Then it must hurt her deeply knowing that, should we find the bell, her former toy will leave Offord for the term of Idonea's life."

  "I doubt that," Luc replied. Taking up a piece of broken bread, he used it to scoop up a bit of the thick, clotted drink to his mouth. He savored before he spoke again.

  "Joia is no longer that carefree child. How could she be, when she's my brother's wife? She's far too practical to dream about anything other than seeing her son in her father's place. As far as keeping that bell as her own, even if her father had decided to give it to her, she knows very well my brother intends to sell it the instant Sir Robert is buried, doing so for his own profit."

  "Do you have any idea who might have taken it?" Faucon asked.

  The knight only shrugged. "Anyone who was set on taking it, I suppose. However, the thief would have had no easy time getting to it. There cannot be many who could breach Sir Robert's private chamber for the storeroom without being noticed or stopped by the servants," he finished, echoing Faucon's earlier thought.

  "Prior Thierry was among those few, according to your brother and his lady wife," Faucon said.

  Luc gaped at him. "That is why my brother and yours rode for Wootton Wawen?! Adam believes the prior took the bell? Well, that settles it," he said to Faucon. "My brother has well and truly gone mad."

  "Why do you say that?" Faucon asked, although he thought he knew the answer, having glimpsed Sir Adam's darker mood.

  Luc turned his gaze back to his tray. "I say it because it's true. Adam lost Offord once when Sir Robert married Lady Joia's mother, but that only made him want Offord all the more. When Joia was born— she was Sir Robert's first child— Adam immediately offered for her. It was a good gamble on my brother's part, for she not only survived to wed him, but proved a beauty." He grinned in appreciation of his brother's wife.

  "After they were wed and Joia had given Adam a son for their second child, the son Sir Robert couldn't produce, my brother was beside himself with joy. Believing Offord securely in his hands, Adam agreed to support Robert's plans to expand Offord's flocks.

  "Offord has richer pastures and produces better wool than Bagot," the knight said, "but Robert hasn't the same talent or interest as Adam in finding profit from all he does. When I returned as a knight to Bagot and became its steward, I warned Adam that it was a foolish risk. What if Little Robert died? What if Joia died after him? Either Robert would have to marry again for another heir or the king would own Offord in Adam's place."

  Pausing to enjoy another bite of posset and bread, he continued. "As if to prove me right, what happens?" he asked in rhetorical question, a note of irony in his voice. "Adam's dear father-by-marriage decides without warning to wed for the third time. From the moment of Lady Offord's arrival here, my brother has been crazed with the fear he'll lose all. So deep is his madness he now sees a thief in a Churchman."

  "Lady Bagot suggests much the same," Faucon said, watching as Luc spread soft cheese on bread. "But tell me what could have happened last night to make your brother believe Sir Robert's death was anything but natural?"

  "You're asking me that?" Sir Luc scoffed. He touched a finger to his bruised face. "I left the hall before
Sir Robert grew ill, as you well know if you've spoken with my brother."

  "But you didn't leave Offord after Sir Robert commanded you go," Faucon said.

  The knight watched him for a long moment. Just when Faucon thought Sir Luc would say nothing, the man replied, "That is true. I did not leave."

  "Why not?" Faucon wanted to know.

  Sir Luc turned his gaze to his tray. "Because I feared for Lady Offord. I'll not see any woman mistreated, but especially not a woman who is with child. Someone had to protect her from my brother."

  "It's odd you think of yourself as her protector. Do you know Lady Offord is frightened of you?" Faucon asked gently.

  That brought Luc's attention up from his tray. He looked genuinely surprised. "Of me? What reason has she to fear me?"

  Faucon watched him closely. "Then she's wrong to think you intend seduction?"

  "I would never dishonor another man so," Sir Luc protested, but he lied again, or so said the way his cheeks brightened. As if he knew he betrayed himself, he looked back at his bread and cheese.

  "There is no longer a husband to dishonor now that she is a widow," Faucon reminded his fellow knight.

  "That changes nothing," Luc muttered to his tray.

  "Because you are too closely related?" Faucon asked. Idonea was Joia's stepmother and Joia was married to Sir Adam. That put Luc within four degrees of relationship with Idonea.

  Luc freed a strangled laugh. "Because I am a third son, without so much as a groat to my name. I will never marry."

  Faucon recognized the longing in the man's voice. Hadn't he felt just as hopeless before the miracle of his new position? "Such is the fate of we who are extra sons," Faucon murmured, bringing his cup to his lips.

  When Luc made no response, Faucon more chewed than drank a mouthful of posset. Unlike the wealthier barons and earls who could afford to support more than one or two sons, the extra sons from families with neither name nor riches were doomed to the lonely lot of a bachelor knight, a soldier for hire. If such a man dared to dream, he might try his skills on the tournament circuit, hoping to prove another William Marshal. An extra son himself, the Marshal was so skilled at arms that he won himself a place in old King Henry's household. But even he spent more than a score of years with no home or wife of his own before Henry's son Richard rewarded his loyalty with the hand of the richest heiress in all England and Normandy.

  And if those knighted extra sons failed to find employment? All too often they turned to thievery to stave off starvation. Or....

  Faucon eyed Sir Luc over the rim of his cup, thinking it a boon for Sir Adam that the Church considered his brother and Idonea related. If the widow should produce a son for Sir Robert, thereby securing Offord as her dower, and Luc were to win her hand in marriage, Sir Adam's younger brother would rule Offord in his brother's place, at least for the widow's lifetime.

  Stirring himself from his thoughts, Faucon said, "Things cannot be so bleak for you. Surely, the position as Bagot's steward offers some prospect for the future." That had been how Sir John, Blacklea's former steward, had won the hand of Marian, although he hadn't done so until his later years.

  "I have the title and the work, but no recompense," Luc said sourly, still staring at the tray in front of him. "My brother didn't vow to my dying father that he'd pay me, only that he would keep me housed and fed for my life, or for as long as I choose to stay."

  Lifting his cup in a small salute, Faucon smiled. "May God shower good fortune down upon all of us who have older brothers."

  Luc glanced at him, then raised his own cup to acknowledge the toast.

  "I've not much hope you can help me with this," Faucon continued, "but was there anything unusual about yesterday either before or during the meal?"

  The knight thought for a moment, then offered a slow nod. "I wouldn't have considered it until you asked, but I now see that there was," he said. "Everyone save Helena and little Martha was on edge. Robert is—" he caught himself "—was usually a lively man, quick to laugh, quick to rage, and just as quick to forgive. And always kind. Not so yesterday. He spoke little, and when he did speak what he said was sharp and harsh. His only truly kind words were for Martha.

  "For that I blame my brother," Luc continued as he spread cheese on another bit of bread. "The whole while I was in the hall, Adam was after Robert like a man baiting a bear, pricking him with words, drawing blood with each blow. The more Robert fought to keep his calm, the harder Adam pressed. Finally, my brother went too far and shouted for all to hear that Lady Offord carried another man's child."

  "And does the lady carry another man's child?" Faucon asked, doing his own baiting.

  Anger flared in Sir Luc's blue eyes. He sat straighter on his stool, his right hand now clenched around the handle of his eating knife. "My brother is an ass, but not even he believes that. King's servant you may be, I'll not tolerate you insulting the lady in my hearing." His outrage was mummery, behind which hid a soul who knew he had sinned.

  "I beg your pardon, sir. My duty often requires me to ask objectionable questions. I'll guard my tongue more carefully as we proceed," Faucon said.

  Luc released a slow breath and let the heat drain from him. He looked back at the tray in his lap. "And I shall do my best to remember you don't speak for yourself but for our laws."

  "Is there anything else you can tell me about the meal?" Faucon asked.

  Luc finished the last of his cheese before he looked up at his Crowner. "What else is there to say? Adam made us all miserable, then drove Robert mad. Then, in his madness, Robert drove me from the hall."

  Faucon shrugged. "Not much more than that, I suppose. Was there anything else you'd like to ask me?"

  The knight looked at him in blank confusion, then gave a nervous laugh as he remembered himself. "Oh, that. No, you've answered where I needed it."

  Swallowing the last of his posset, Luc set his cup and tray on the floor. When he came to his feet, he made a show of straightening his cloak around him. "I'd best be on my way home to Bagot. Although we're only over the fourth rise, I'd rather not ride in full dark." Despite his words, everything about the knight said he had no intention of leaving Offord.

  Faucon considered honoring Lady Bagot's request to accompany her brother-by-marriage to the village bounds. He discarded the notion as a waste of his time. This was a man who lied too easily. Luc would simply wait outside the village until he could return unseen. Instead, he came to his feet and extended his hand. "Travel with God, sir."

  The knight brushed his hand on his cloak before taking Faucon's. "And I wish you much good fortune in this new duty of yours, Sir Faucon."

  As Sir Luc made his way to the kitchen door, he sent a quick look over his shoulder at his former nurse. It seemed Milla had been waiting for this sign. She put aside her bowl and followed the knight outside the kitchen.

  Leaving the door open behind them, they stopped a few paces beyond the opening. The wind flattened Sir Luc's cloak against his back and set the cook's head-cloth to fluttering. Faucon watched their mouths move as they spoke. Although he could hear nothing of what they said, Milla looked as though she chided her former nursling. Then the cook rose on her toes and pressed a swift kiss to the knight's cheek.

  As Sir Luc made his way toward Offord's gate, Milla the Cook returned into the kitchen. Panting against the cold, she stopped in the doorway. All the softness she'd shown Sir Luc was gone from her face. Instead, the lift of her brow invited her unwelcome guest to leave.

  "I have questions for you regarding Sir Robert's death," Faucon said, in reply to her rude and unspoken demand.

  "I think I can have nothing to offer in that regard, sir," she replied as she straightened her head covering, tucking her hair back beneath it.

  "It will take but a moment," Faucon persisted.

  She freed an impatient breath, then looked at Nobby. "Run you to the hall, boy," she said in her native tongue. "Ask one of the maids to come fetch the pot."

  "I
can carry it," the lad protested.

  "Nay, it's too heavy for you and posset is too dear to spill. Rather, after you bear your message, stay in the hall and lay out the cups, claiming one for yourself as you do," she told him.

  That put a smile on the lad's face and wings on his feet. He sprinted from the kitchen. Milla shut the door behind him, then stood with her back to it as she again aimed her sharp gaze at Faucon. "Ask your questions, sir, but swiftly so, if you please. I yet have work to do before I can call this day done."

  "Perhaps you overheard my conversation with Sir Luc? Sir Robert's bell has gone missing. Would you have any idea who might have taken it?" Faucon asked with a smile, lifting his cup from the seat of the stool to see if there was anything left in it beyond dregs. There wasn't.

  "How would I know who does what in the hall? This," the lift of the cook's hand indicated the kitchen, "is my home. Save for the occasional feast day, I spend little time outside this place."

  "Were you in the hall for last night's feast?" Faucon asked.

  "That was not a feast, only a celebration," Milla corrected him. "And I was in the hall, but only for a brief time during the meal."

  "While you were there, did you notice anything unusual?" Faucon pressed, wondering if it was just her nature to be so tight-lipped or if there was purpose behind her defiance.

  Her expression flattened. "The only thing unusual about last night's meal was how Sir Adam stole all the joy from an event meant to honor his daughter."

  "I think you overestimate Sir Adam's effect on Lady Martha," Faucon told her. "The lady says she very much enjoyed that special dish you made for her and her grandsire."

  An unreadable emotion dashed through Milla's blue eyes. Her mouth tightened slightly. "Ah, the quail. It is Sir Robert's favorite dish, however I believe Lady Martha's fondness for her 'little birds' is because it pleases her grandsire that she shares them with him. No one else likes the dish. The sauce is too tart. But that child would do anything to win Sir Robert's smile, and he feels the same for her.