The Final Toll

by Denise Domning

  That had the housewife frowning in thought. "If I did, I don't recall."

  With that, Faucon shifted back into French for his own purpose. He looked at Sir Luc. "Milla cooked and ate one of Eustace's quail in front of Lady Bagot after Sir Robert first ailed. She did it to prove that there was nothing wrong with Eustace's quail." Luc's expression grew hollow as he listened.

  "But if not our birds—" Eustace started, then drew a sudden sharp breath. He looked at Sir Luc. "Earlier this year, I took a few dozen quail chicks to Bagot, didn't I, Sir Luc?" he said, his tone urgent.

  "Did you?" Luc replied flatly.

  Eustace nodded. "I did," he insisted. "You don't recall?" The bailiff caught himself. "Ah, that's right. It was Lady Bagot who came to me at Sir Adam's request. She said your brother had decided to raise a flock so Sir Robert could enjoy his favorite meal while he resided at Bagot."

  Horror dashed through Luc's gaze. He instantly turned his attention to the tabletop. "God help you, Adam. What have you done?" he said quietly, shaking his head.

  That had Faucon draining the last drop of cider from his cup. He rose to his feet. "Many thanks, goodwife," he told Nell with a smile, still speaking French, "for both the meat and the instruction. You've been more help than you can know. Now it's time we made our way back to the hall.

  "Are you ready, Brother Colin?" he prodded the monk. He needed to reach Milla and the kitchen before Sir Luc. Colin held up a finger on his free hand as he brought his bowl to his lips to empty it.

  Sir Luc rose from his bench. "Give me a moment to dress, Sir Faucon, and I'll accompany you," the knight said swiftly.

  As Luc started for the ladder and the loft, Colin set down his bowl and freed a small belch. "And we're off, Sir Crowner," he said, then smiled at Nell. "Goodwife, that is excellent cider. If I ever return this way, would you be willing to share a few branches of your apple tree so my brothers may add them to our abbey orchard? Our cider isn't nearly as fine."

  "It would be our pleasure. I'll start some treelets for you this winter if you'd like," Nell said happily, as she retrieved their outer garments from her stools and offered them to her guests.

  Faucon threw his cloak over his shoulders. It was pleasantly warm if not dry. He took a step toward the door, but Colin looked prepared to chat comfortably for a few more moments. Leaning down, Faucon said quietly in English, "Hie, Brother. We need to leave immediately."

  Colin looked up at him in surprise. "Without the knight?" he responded in the same tongue.

  Faucon touched his finger to his lips, then glanced at the housewife and her husband. "Eustace, you saw," he said, his voice held low. "Sir Adam isn't himself just now. There could be deadly trouble if Sir Luc enters Offord with me. Anything you can do to delay him would be appreciated."

  That had Nell hurrying to her door. She snatched up a pair of soft leather shoes from near the entry, then disappeared behind the curtain. When she reappeared, she opened her door so her guests could depart.

  "Thank you again," she whispered as they passed her, "and I'll have saplings for you next spring, Brother."

  Outside, the wind moaned but the rain had ended. Head down, Faucon shuffled and reshuffled his pieces as he and Colin slogged through the cold mud toward the manor house. When they once more came to rest, he found himself again agreeing wholeheartedly with Brother Edmund. They should never have come to Offord. He still had nothing but belief and guesses to offer his jurors, and he doubted speaking with Milla would change that.

  As they reached Offord's gateway, he looked at Brother Colin. "I'm for the kitchen. There's no need to join me if you'd rather go to the hall and take your ease."

  "I think not," Colin said stoutly. "I left the abbey two days ago, expecting no more than a long cold walk to distribute winter potions to our nearest daughter houses. Instead, here I am, swept into a grand adventure. And look how I've learned about birds that can eat hemlock, then poison those who eat them! I'm with you for as long as you'll have me at your side, Sir Crowner."

  "Then come along," Faucon replied, happy to have the monk's company during what was sure to be a frustrating exchange.

  Scraping what mud he could from his shoes, Faucon opened the kitchen door. As it had earlier, the warmth of the fire reached out to embrace him, but this time the air was redolent with mellow turnip, sharp fish, sweet raisins, and almond milk. Milla stood at the hearth, stirring the contents of a pot about half as large as the cauldron she'd used for this morn's potage. Nobby was nowhere in sight.

  The work table across the chamber was cluttered with what would become the day's main meal. A dozen or so flat square loaves of bread filled one end. Once cut in half lengthwise, they would serve as trenchers, edible plates. Tall round eel pies, their crusts golden, filled the center of the table while at the table's far end were three large earthenware pitchers, one for each table.

  As Colin entered behind him, a gust of cold air blew past them. Milla looked over her shoulder. When she saw them, she straightened, spoon in hand. Some emotion danced through her gaze, only to disappear under that hard expression she and her brother both employed to protect themselves.

  "Milla, I must speak with you about your brother's quail," Faucon said, winding his way through the bags and barrels to join her at the fire.

  She kept her back to him as she began again to stir her stew. "Speak as you must, knowing that I cannot stop or I'll lose the day's second dish."

  "Do you or Nobby kill the birds yourselves or do they come to you with their necks wrung?" he asked, choosing a question to which he knew the answer and circling the hearth so he could face her.

  She lifted her head far enough for him to see the sharp intelligence that filled her eyes. Bringing her spoon to her mouth, she tasted her stew, then reached down into the bowl at her feet. It was the parsley Nobby had prepared for her. Tossing a few handfuls into the pot, she stirred again.

  "The birds come to us alive in a cage. One of us finishes them here. Why does it matter?" she asked, peering up at him.

  "I wondered if there was any difference between the birds that came to you from Offord, and those that came from Bagot," he said, hoping a quick jab might throw her off balance.

  "No birds came to me from Bagot," she replied easily. "Bagot does not supply our quail."

  "On the contrary, birds did come into your kitchen from Bagot, and their flesh was poisoned with hemlock," he told her, trying yet another jab.

  Neither shock nor panic touched her expression. She lowered her gaze to her pot. "A poison bird?" she scoffed. "What animal eats hemlock and survives?"

  "Quail," Faucon replied.

  She barked a disbelieving laugh. "Well, if that is what you believe, then you must immediately seek out Eustace. And if my brother raised poisoned birds to kill his master, then he should hang. However," she continued, "should you accuse Eustace, know that I will testify on his behalf. There is nothing amiss with his birds. After what I told you yesterday, you well know that I'd be the first to pronounce against my kinsman if he'd done as you say."

  She raised her head as she said this. Her face could have been carved from stone. She'd spoken the truth yesterday. She didn't need Eustace to hang. It was vengeance enough for her that her brother would lose his position as bailiff. Just then the stew bubbled. Searing liquid spattered. One droplet hit her hand and she returned her attention to the pot, moving her spoon 'round and 'round.

  However insignificant, Faucon hurried to exploit the opportunity she'd just offered. "It seems you told me but half that story yesterday. Eustace convinced Sir Robert to offer you the position of chatelaine at Offord after you left Bagot. Did he know when he brought you to Sir Robert that the knight expected you to play the role of leman, just as Sir Adam had required of you?" As he said this, he wondered if it had been kindness or Sir Robert's love for Milla's cooking that resulted in Milla living in his kitchen instead of sleeping in his bed.

  Her flinch suggested he'd surprised her. Despite that, she neit
her looked at him nor stopped the steady motion of her hand. Nor did she speak, using silence as her shield.

  "If I ride to Bagot, what will the servants tell me about why and how you left their manor and their master six years past?" he pressed. "You know how it is with servants and villagers, everyone always whispering about everyone else. There's sure to be one among them who knows at least a part of your tale. Will that one tell me you lied to your master to protect the child you'd made your own? Will he tell me your purse was full when you left Bagot, or that Sir Adam sent you away without a penny to your name? Your father wasn't the only man to cheat you of your rightful earnings, was he?

  "As for me," Faucon continued, "I'm wondering what Sir Adam believed you'd done that caused him to punish you so. More to the point, I'm wondering what Sir Luc had done that resulted in your punishment. Had he done then the same as he had on the night Sir Robert died, and stepped between a man and his wife?"

  Having strung together his best guesses, Faucon waited. She said nothing. He tried a new angle.

  "Milla, your brother is a well-liked bailiff, known for loving his milk-brother. Who will believe that he would poison a man he loves? However, if even one man knows how Sir Robert insulted you with his lewd invitation, he would think you do have reason. Nor will any man or woman in Offord ever believe that poison birds could enter your kitchen without your knowledge. But come into your kitchen they did. It won't be Eustace who hangs for poisoning his master— it will be you."

  This time when she raised her head, confidence radiated from her. It formed a wall as thick and impenetrable as that of any keep tower. Nothing he'd said had even chipped her defenses.

  "There were no poison birds," she said. "How could there have been? Ask Offord's maids or Nobby. I've prepared that dish for my master at least a dozen times since his return from the Michaelmas court with Lady Offord. If any poisoned birds existed, would Sir Robert not have died sooner or at least ailed more often? And what of Lady Martha, who often shared that dish with him? Why has she never ailed?" she asked, wielding an unexpected weapon, one that sent her opponent's blade flying from his fingers.

  Faucon sighed. He had expected no less."You truly do love them enough to spend your life on their behalf."

  Her brows rose slowly. Her eyes gleamed. It said he had just given her an advantage to exploit, when Faucon hadn't known he had it to offer.

  "Spend my life for whom?" she asked.

  It was in her face. No matter what name Faucon gave her, Milla would correct him, offering the name of another man, the one who had misused her. Faucon had no doubt her lie would be convincing, and that she'd go happily to the gallows if she thought she could take that man along with her.

  He watched her for a long moment, then shook his head, refusing to be used by her. "I am finished here, Brother Colin. Shall we return to the hall and see how my brother fares?"

  As the kitchen door closed behind them, Colin asked, "So, did Milla poison her master?"

  "If by that you mean did she carry cooked birds she knew to be poisonous to her master, then yes," Faucon replied. "But she raised no poison birds and had no true reason to kill her employer."

  Colin frowned up at him. "So who will you accuse when you call the jury?"

  "I can't call the jury," Faucon said sourly, stepping around a puddle. "No matter what name I offer, the moment I tell the jurors that poisoned quail killed Sir Robert, every man among them will look at Eustace. Both Milla and little Nobby will affirm that the only quail in their kitchen came from Offord's bailiff." Because as far as Nobby knew, they had, even if it wasn't always Eustace's quail on Sir Robert's trencher.

  "The poison birds!" Colin cried, brows lifted. "We must ride for Bagot for them."

  "What birds?" Faucon shot back. "I wager if we rode to Bagot right now, we'd find all those birds dead, or, if they still live, they'll prove to be as clean as the birds Eustace raises."

  Colin freed a slow breath as he understood. "Pity poor Eustace," he said.

  "Pity him, indeed," Faucon replied, "but not because he was ever intended to carry the blame for this. He wasn't. Eustace is only endangered because Sir Adam's mad need to destroy Lady Offord led him to me, something beyond the scope of this plot.

  "Now here I am, having discovered Sir Robert's death was anything but natural, but also having discovered that I cannot declare the knight poisoned without endangering an innocent man," he finished with a sigh.

  "Do you know why Sir Robert was poisoned?" Colin asked.

  Faucon nodded. "It was his bell. Without it, Sir Robert's treasury is empty. I suspect Sir Adam demanded Robert cede him his bell as collateral, to protect what Bagot had invested in Offord. But if Sir Robert had agreed, he would have been forever after under the control of his son-by-marriage, something he couldn’t bear and which drove him to show the bell to Prior Thierry, and make an insincere offer to give it to the priory upon his death. Although I again but guess, I think Sir Robert saw that bell as nothing more than an exotic and ancient curiosity. Thus he was startled when he suddenly had two men in a frenzy to take the bell from him. That's why Sir Robert married Idonea and made the bell her dower, to put it beyond the reach of both of them, at least until Idonea's death."

  What a strange family this was, all of them dancing to the tune of Sir Robert's bell. Sir Adam consumed by greed, Lady Joia, the girl who had made that bell into a precious plaything with Luc, her dearest childhood friend. Luc, the boy Sir Robert loved as if he were his own son, yet believed capable of betraying him by lying with his new wife. Was that because Luc had already lain with Robert's daughter, giving him the grandchild he loved beyond all others? And Milla, who had been willing to risk all for children who weren't her own because she believed she yet had riches in store, only to discover she'd been betrayed, just as she betrayed another.

  "Then there will be no justice for Sir Robert," Colin said sadly as they reached the porch before the hall door.

  "Hardly so," Faucon replied with a quick smile as they paused to kick mud from their shoes yet again. "Sir Robert saw to his own justice when he hid that bell."

  Had Sir Robert hidden the bell because he realized he was meant to die? If he'd known that much, he must have also known both who and why. That meant that two nights ago he would have counted the number of the birds on his trencher and known it was his time. Was it suicide if a man allowed what he most loved to kill him?

  Faucon and the monk stopped at the corner of the hall screen to shake the moisture from their sodden cloaks. In the hall, the little ladies were still at the hearth, Alf watching over them, as they created a gown for Martha's poppet. The plaything would match her owner, wearing the same red fabric that made up Martha's gown.

  Sir Adam sat in his father-by-marriage's chair, staring at the fire. He looked as if he'd again collapsed into himself. Lady Joia must yet be sleeping, for she was nowhere to be seen. Edmund once more knelt at the prie-dieu near the bed. His head bowed, his lips moved as he chanted quietly. Seated on stools near the monk were Offord's three maids. Each of them held a spear-like distaff clamped between her knees. Fingers twisting, weighted spindles spinning, they drew fibers from the clumps of fleece impaled atop their distaffs and turned it into yarn.

  Faucon's gaze shifted to the pallet where Will had rested. It was empty. Panic welled. Had his brother run?

  Just then, Alf turned to look at his employer and Will leaned forward to peer around the soldier. Although painful hollows lingered on Will's face, his gaze was alert and his expression blessedly sane. Relief over not having to search the shire for his brother dissolved into astonishment. Why had Will chosen to sit with a commoner instead of the knight?

  With Colin at his side, Faucon made his way toward Alf and his brother, choosing to walk on the inside of the table so his brother wouldn't have to turn to see him. "Are you restored, Will?" he asked carefully when he stopped across the table from his brother.

  "I am, many thanks to your monk," Will replied, offering
Brother Colin a friendly nod. For the first time since his arrival in Warwickshire, the sarcastic edge was gone from his voice. "Brother, do you have more of that potion? If so, may I purchase some for my own use?"

  "I do and you may indeed have some," Colin replied with a smile. "But I think it wiser if you and I speak. The more I know of your injury and how it pains you, the better I'll know how to treat it."

  Will instantly tensed. So did Faucon. He cursed himself for not having warned Colin that even the slightest mention of Will's injury— even the barest hint that there might be something amiss with him— could send Will into a screaming fit.

  Again his brother surprised Faucon as Will forced himself to relax. "Perhaps over there?" he said, lifting his hand to indicate the back of the hall, a place well beyond the hearing of those presently in this big chamber. As he spoke, he sent a sidelong look at his younger brother. The gratitude in his gaze sent another wave of surprise over Faucon.

  "Of course," Colin agreed and turned.

  Just then, Sir Luc stepped around the screen and strode into the hall. Sir Adam's younger brother wore a mummer's expression of outrage. Faucon's hand fell to his sword hilt, certain the coming show would be directed at him. Instead, Luc kept his gaze fixed on his brother as he made his way toward the high table.

  Idonea gave a frightened squeal as she saw her tormentor striding toward her. Lunging to her feet, she looked in panic at her Crowner. The lift of Faucon's hand bid her to him. As she ran, Helena glanced up at her uncle. Her face paled until her freckles stood out like pox. She was on her feet almost as quickly as Idonea, following with the poppet's half-made gown in one hand while pulling her younger sister along behind her. While Helena joined Idonea behind Faucon, Martha pulled free of her sister's grasp to press herself to his side. Yet clutching her poppet, she tangled her free hand in his cloak.

  As the ladies fled the hearth, both Alf and Will left their bench to join Faucon. Alf stopped beside Martha, his hand on her shoulder. Will took a stance at Faucon's right. His brother shot him a swift smile and a cock of his brows. Faucon's lips curled. Here was his adored brother, come to visit at last.