Oathbreaker (The King's Hounds series)

by Martin Jensen

  “Since you were at the abbot’s side today.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, we don’t need a prior. I was with Turold during your talk because I just happened to be with him when you arrived this morning.”

  I pretended that I believed him and looked back over at Wulfgar, who pushed himself back from the table, patted his belly, and gave me a satisfied smile before reaching for the ale pitcher.

  “So,” Wulfgar said with a sigh, once he’d filled his tankard. “This is really living like a lord, for a soldier.”

  I knew what he meant: sleeping with a roof over your head, in a bed and not under a hay wagon, and eating solid meals several times a day. He was surely not accustomed to that.

  “It seems to agree with Ulf as well,” I said.

  Wulfgar turned and glanced at Ulf. “Looks like it. It must be a long time since he’s eaten so well.”

  “Is he good company?” I asked.

  “Well, at least he’s not a chatterbox,” Wulfgar said, and then tipped his head back and laughed. “I guess I don’t know any more than that.”

  “You said you went to the church when the body was discovered because Alwyn came by looking for us.”

  “I did, and he did,” Wulfgar said.

  Something here didn’t add up. I thought it over. Edmund had found the body, but did we know what he did next? We know that at some point he went to Abbot Turold’s chambers, but what did he do before that? I couldn’t remember that any of us had asked him, and I bit my lower lip in annoyance.

  “Why Alwyn?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” Wulfgar asked, looking at me in surprise. “Did you expect the thane to come get you in person?”

  “No, I mean, why did Edmund notify him when he found Godfrid dead? You’re in charge of Edmund’s spearmen. Wouldn’t it have made sense for Edmund to have notified you?”

  “Oh yeah, I can explain that,” Wulfgar said, but then didn’t say anything.

  “Alright, let’s hear it,” I urged.

  “Well, I wondered the same thing, you know? So I asked Edmund earlier.”

  I swore to myself that this spearman had thought things through further than we had.

  “And what did he say?”

  “That Alwyn happened to be walking across the grass when he came out of the church.”

  “What?” I stared at him, dumbfounded. “What was Alwyn doing there?”

  “Now that I can’t tell you,” Wulfgar said with a smile that basically said he could see why I was bewildered.

  I looked around. Alwyn had eaten at our table yesterday. Today I couldn’t see him. I decided to change the topic.

  “Do you think Simon could be the murderer?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Wulfgar said, suddenly serious. “He’s pretty hot-headed, that’s for sure, but to kill someone in cold blood? The hell if I know.”

  “You mentioned to me that he’s not a nobleman by birth. Have you ever seen him with a sword in his hand?”

  “Never,” Wulfgar said, shaking his head. “But…”

  “Yes?” I encouraged him.

  “Nothing.”

  The Benedictines were his employers, and he was too smart to say anything to put them at a disadvantage. I understood. I was going to have to say whatever he was thinking.

  “Not that it takes much skill with a weapon to knock a man down from behind and chop his hand off with a sword,” I said.

  Wulfgar nodded.

  “Simon had a motive,” I continued.

  “So did several other people. As far as I’ve heard, this Godfrid was known for his rude behavior.”

  I realized it would be impossible to break through Wulfgar’s loyalty unless I had some firm evidence of Simon’s guilt. So I turned to Brother Edgar instead, only to discover that someone had come and occupied the seat next to him while I’d been talking to Wulfgar.

  “Alwyn,” I said by way of greeting. “You’re late to the table.”

  Alwyn finished chewing his mouthful before he responded that he’d been out on an errand for the thane.

  “A long ride?” I asked.

  He didn’t respond, and I made a note to go to the stable and check if his horse had been ridden.

  “And last night?” I asked.

  Alwyn took a bite of meat.

  “Last night?” he mumbled as he chewed.

  “When Edmund ran into you outside the church. Were you doing an errand for the thane then, too?”

  “Oh, that,” Alwyn said with a wide grin, exposing his teeth. “No, that was more like an errand of my own. I was answering the call of nature.”

  I pointed out that the outhouse was behind the stables in the other direction from where Edmund had seen him.

  “Yeah, but I usually do a perimeter check every time I wake up at night.”

  If Alwyn was the kind of seasoned, ever-vigilant soldier I took him to be, that made perfect sense.

  “How was he?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” Alwyn was struggling with his slice of bread, which had come apart after soaking up the juices from the meat.

  “Edmund. How was he when you met him?”

  “Oh. He was…” Alwyn’s face took on a contemplative look. “Surprisingly calm, actually, considering that he’d just found a dead body.”

  Edmund was able to keep a calm head, I knew, remembering back to how he’d acted during the attack along the road. All the same, most people would be shaken to find a man murdered in a church like that.

  “What did Edmund say?” I asked.

  “Say?” Alwyn thought about it. “I’d taken a stroll down past the gate and exchanged a few words with the guards when I saw the door to the church open. I didn’t think any more about it. These monks are always going in and out, but then Edmund called out to me. He came walking out the door of the church.”

  “You recognized him?” I decided I should talk to the guards who were on duty last night.

  “Of course. It was a moonlit night. He said… he said something terrible had happened in the church.”

  “Something terrible? He didn’t say a man had been murdered?” I asked.

  “No,” Alwyn said shaking his head. “‘Something terrible.’ That’s what he said.”

  “Hmm,” I said.

  Wulfgar cleared his throat to draw our attention.

  “That is exactly what a man like Edmund would say after coming upon something desecrating a church,” Wulfgar said.

  He was right. Such a gruesome act in the house of the Lord, the prior had called it, before he’d said that it was terrible no matter who’d done it. Not the murder itself, maybe, but the fact that it had happened where it had.

  “Did he mention Simon?” I asked.

  “His subprior?” Alwyn asked. Then he shook his head. “No, but then he wasn’t in the church.”

  I let that remark pass without commenting on it.

  “And then what did you do?” I prompted.

  “I went into the church, and after I saw what had happened, I woke up two spearmen and ordered them to guard the church. After that I woke Ælfgar, who accompanied me to the church. After he saw the body, he told me to go get Abbot Turold and you.”

  “Why not go get the abbot first?”

  “Before getting the guards?” Alwyn said. “I thought it was important to seal off the church. The dead man could obviously wait a few minutes.”

  “Who did the church need to be sealed off from?”

  Alwyn opened his mouth but then just stared at me, surprised. A few moments later he smiled slightly.

  “You know what? I actually have no idea now. I just thought that’s what should be done.”

  I smiled back at him. That’s how people are when they’re in command. The first thing they do is put their soldiers to work. Maybe later they start thinking about why.

  I thanked him and stood up. The refectory had gradually emptied out. Only a few monks who’d arrived late were still seated, leani
ng over their bread trenchers.

  In the stables a one-eyed, stooped stable hand told me Alwyn had come in on horseback a little while ago and had left his horse in the man’s care. And at the gate I was lucky to find that one of the guards had had the night watch the previous night as well. He confirmed Alwyn’s story. The guard had also seen Alwyn walking the whole way over from the outhouse, past the gate, and he had then watched Alwyn go around behind the church and back.

  “There wasn’t much else to do,” the guard said by way of explanation. I asked whether he’d found Alwyn’s behavior odd, but he just shook his head and said, “I’m sure the thane’s man just wanted to check with his own eyes that everything was as it should be.”

  In other words, the guard approved of Alwyn’s leadership and wouldn’t have minded serving under a man like him. I thanked him and walked back across the turf.

  Wulfgar sat on a bench outside the guesthouse, a pitcher and two tankards next to him. He waved to me jauntily and called out, “There’s always a use for a pitcher of good ale, right?”

  So, like brothers, we spent the evening in pleasant conversation, emptying the pitcher of strong, sweet gale–flavored ale.

  Chapter 23

  I was alone when I woke up. The spearmen might grumble that the lodgings they found in the village were worse than at the monastery, but as far as Winston was concerned, he was certainly better bedded than he’d dreamt he would be even as recently as yesterday morning.

  I found Alwyn and his master in the hall, dressed to go riding. They both spared me a nod, but that was all.

  I sat down at the other end of the hall and hungrily ate the breakfast porridge, which I poured plenty of honey over. I washed it down with weak ale as I contemplated what I ought to do if Winston didn’t show up soon.

  Which he didn’t.

  I had no trouble deciding who I should talk to after my chats with Alwyn and Wulfgar the previous night.

  Simon answered the door. He looked pale, but not particularly torn up. The corners of his mouth were slick with ale, and behind him I saw Edmund at the little table, busy with a loaf of wheat bread, cold food, salted salmon, and a pitcher of ale. The Benedictines were certainly being treated well.

  “Oh, it’s you,” Edmund said.

  “Indeed,” I said, directing my most winning smile at Edmund. “I have a couple of questions, Prior Edmund.”

  “You’re still working on that?” Edmund licked the salmon fat off his fingers. Then he furrowed his brow. “Where is your master?”

  “He had another engagement,” I said. I wasn’t sure that an honest response would be the best choice.

  The brow furrows grew deeper. Edmund apparently felt that discussing anything with me was beneath him, and he was about to tell me that it would be far more suitable if we were to wait until Winston could be present. But before Edmund managed to open his mouth, I’d asked my question:

  “After you discovered Godfrid’s body, you left the church. Why?”

  “Why?” His gray eyes looked surprised. “To sound the alarm, of course.”

  “Of course. To whom did you sound it?”

  Edmund’s eyes widened farther, and he gave Simon a nervous glance.

  “I, uh…” Edmund flung up his hands, flummoxed. “I don’t actually know.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you thought that far through it.” I smiled reassuringly. “But what actually happened then?”

  Edmund’s forehead wrinkled up again as he thought about it. Then it smoothed out again and he said, “I met a spearman.”

  “And that was…?” I prompted.

  “The one who’s in charge of Thane Ælfgar’s men.”

  “Alwyn?”

  “Yes, him,” Edmund said with a vehement nod.

  “What was he doing in front of the church in the middle of the night?” I asked.

  The look on Edmund’s face was no longer just surprised. Now it was also completely mystified.

  “Now that, I really couldn’t tell you,” he admitted.

  “Maybe he had just come out of the church?” I asked.

  “Out of the…? Of course not.” Edmund’s voice was beginning to regain its customary authority, so I hurried to confuse him further.

  “Is it really such a matter of course, Edmund?” I badgered.

  He seemed startled.

  “Prior Edmund,” I corrected myself. “Is it, Edmund?”

  His ruddy face blushed, but when I refused to back down, he became angry. I heard Simon’s foot scraping against the floor behind me.

  “Of course the prior would have noticed it if this Alwyn fellow had been in the church,” Simon said.

  “Were you there?” I asked, not even bothering to turn my head to look at Simon.

  “You know I wasn’t,” Simon said haughtily.

  “Then be quiet,” I told him. “Well, Edmund?”

  I could see in Edmund’s eyes that I’d won this power struggle. He turned a bit, ran a hand over his stubbly scalp, and mumbled that as his subprior had so rightly stated, he would certainly have noticed if there had been a person present in the nave.

  “You would? In the dark?” I kept my eyes focused on him.

  Edmund nodded his head, bit his lower lip, and then his eyes widened triumphantly.

  “He came from over by the gate!” he exclaimed.

  So Alwyn had told the truth. I contemplated the likelihood that Alwyn had been inside the church, killed Godfrid, and sneaked out while Edmund was on his way in, only to then hurry over to the gate guards so that someone could corroborate his story. Not very likely, I thought, although I decided to present the possibility to Winston whenever he decided to show back up.

  I turned to Simon and asked, “How handy are you with a sword, Simon?”

  A shiver ran through Simon’s chiseled face. I raised my eyebrows encouragingly.

  “I’m no swordsman,” he confessed.

  “I know,” I said cheerfully. “That’s why I asked how good you are with a sword.”

  “I’m… I’m not good. I’ve never trained at using weapons.”

  “Never held a sword in your hand?” I asked.

  “Never.” He seemed to have found a reserve of strength from somewhere.

  “Maybe as a boy? Before you put on the habit?”

  “Never.”

  Well, well, like I’d told Wulfgar the evening before, it doesn’t take much skill to chop a man’s hand off.

  “And you still claim Godfrid was alive when you left him?” I asked Simon.

  Simon’s self-confidence slipped away, like a cloak falling on the ground, and I saw tears gleam in his eyes.

  “Yes, I swear by the living God,” he said.

  Based on what Wulfgar had told me about Simon, I was inclined to believe his solemn oath.

  Chapter 24

  I returned to our room and found no sign of Winston or any indication that he’d been there, so I decided to go down to the village. It was one of those clear, crisp autumn days when the sky is as blue as a jarl’s cloak, the air cool without tearing at your lungs, and the sun on the verge of regaining its strength. You could tell the harvest was drawing to a close. People walked around calmly, without the urgency typical of farmers when they’re struggling to bring in the grain before the weather turns.

  All the same, the square and the lanes were busy.

  A lanky boy drove an oxcart away without needing to poke the animals’ hindquarters with his hazel switch. The bullocks patiently shook their crooked horns and bellowed back at the boy, who gave me a friendly greeting, and then they calmly lumbered away. A lass with wispy hair walked right across their path with her flock of geese without causing the bullocks’ heads to even tug at the yoke, not even when the honking, hissing birds darted between their legs.

  The boy blew the girl a kiss and then urged her to meet him “at the stile, you know,” an offer she responded to by sticking out her tongue.

  I laughed. The cheeky boy gave me a wink, and the
girl rolled her eyes. I watched her contentedly as she drifted away, sashaying her hips, following her squawking gray flock. Eventually she had to step aside to make way for a creaking cart, which squeaked its way along behind a nag whose head drooped so far it almost touched the grass along the dusty lane.

  When I reached the farm where Alfilda was staying, I found a corpulent farmer putting a new handle on a shovel. He was about thirty, with a flat face and hands that were each twice as wide as my own. He was attaching the handle to the blade with an iron bolt.

  “Ribald.”

  He looked up, thus indicating that I had guessed correctly.

  “I’m Halfdan. I’m looking for Winston the Illuminator. Is he here?”

  Ribald responded with a headshake.

  “How about Alfilda, who’s staying here?”

  Same response.

  “Do you know where they are?”

  He raised the shovel, inspected his work, and gave me an obtuse look, which I responded to with an obliging smile.

  “The hospital,” he said, then turned and walked off around the corner of the building. A man of few words, apparently. I wondered how Abbot Turold succeeded in “always talking to him.”

  A movement by the farmhouse door caught my attention.

  The girl who stepped out onto the worn millstone doorstep and glanced over at me could have been Elvina in about five or six years. Light-blonde hair fell softly around her face. Her eyes were blue like the kerchief around her shoulders. Her bosom pushed against her gray top. And her calves—which were visible below her skirt—were tan and inviting.

  “You must be Ebba,” I said, walking over to her.

  Her eyes widened slightly.

  “I’m a friend of Elvina’s.” I could claim that, right? “You’re not out with the sheep.” Let it not be said that I’m an unobservant person.

  The girl wrinkled her nose but remained silent.

  “My name’s Halfdan.” If I kept talking, eventually she’d have to say something, right? “And I’m looking for Winston. He’s the man who slept with Alfilda, who’s staying here.”

  Now I was rewarded with a smile.

  “We work together,” I added.

  The girl wrinkled her nose again and was just about to open her mouth when a woman called to her from inside the house. I recognized Estrid’s voice and hollered in that it was me, Halfdan.