He halted before Rob and thrust out a hand. "Well come to my home, Master Robert. I am Jehan, son of Peter the Wool Merchant. You may not remember me, but I recall you from the abbey's school. I fear you were too old and too advanced in your studies to notice a wee lad just beginning his own."
Rob did not extend his arm. He came to defeat his foe, not to befriend those who so foully and unjustly sullied his name and repute. Master Jehan did not seem to notice the rejection. Instead, confusion filled his gaze as his hand dropped back to his side. "Odd," he said, "but you look like someone I know. Why I didn’t see this before I cannot fathom.”
Rob paid no heed to the man’s strange reaction, only spoke the piece he’d concocted for himself while on the walk to this place. "When I have satisfied your council's questions"—he gave the word a sarcastic twist—"with my answers, know that I will be leaving Stanrudde with no plans of returning."
"Ah," Master Jehan murmured, startled back into the role of warden. He briefly bowed his head, acknowledging as equal to equal the insult being done to Rob. "For that I can only beg your pardon. In all honesty the majority of the council finds it difficult to believe you are at the root of this unrest; however, our town is naught but a bit of dry tinder. Were we to ignore what all of Stanrudde believes it knows, it would seem we protected you because you are a successful merchant like ourselves. This would be just the spark needed to set our town to burning once more, mayhap with more devastating results this time."
It was as much explanation as any man needed. Were Rob put into the same position, he doubted he'd have done differently. He nodded in understanding. "Well said, but I cannot pretend I am pleased over it."
The wool merchant offered him a small smile. "Nor would I be, were I you. Since there is naught either of us can do to change the way matters lie in this present moment, why not come into the house and take your ease while the guard gathers the others?"
"My thanks," Rob said, returning the man's smile with true gratitude for his offer. "I have yet to dine this day. Might I prevail upon you for a bite to eat?"
"You can," Master Jehan said, turning toward the house. "Come, my wife has made the most wonderful cheese pie."
Rob strode alongside the hobbling man, surprised that the wool merchant so easily kept pace with him. As Master Jehan pushed open the house's door, Rob glanced into the first-floor workroom. Beyond tools used in processing fleece and sheepskin, it was much the same as his, complete with counting board and richly decorated coffers for contracts, account books, and coin.
Up a set of steep stairs they went, Master Jehan managing with an ease that spoke of a long familiarity with his infirmity. The wool merchant lifted himself into the second-story hall. Rob followed him, glancing about with an eye to comparing this dwelling to his own.
Light dimly penetrated the thin oiled skins covering the three slitted windows on the street-side wall. This bit of brightness showed him the painted linen panels that decorated the walls. There were also wooden cupboards, their shelves painted red and yellow, upon which was displayed a goodly number of horn and silver cups. A silver tureen sat in a place of honor amid them. Rob's estimation of his host leapt upward. Jehan the Wool Merchant did well for himself.
Four high-backed chairs were clutched near the hearth in the hall's corner. Rob glanced from them to the hooded fireplace. The hearth's angle suggested that its twin sat on the opposite side of the inner wall and used the same chimney. A kitchen within the house? If so, this was an unusual feature, as most kitchens were separate from the houses they fed.
At the room's back, two women were in the process of lifting the table boards onto their braces. One was young, the other moving into her middle years. Both wore the plain, sturdy attire given to those who served. An old woman watched them, clean table linen folded in her arms. The grandam's green gown was fine wool, trimmed with glittering braid. An embroidered belt encircled her age-softened waist, held in place with a jeweled clasp. A silken wimple covered her grayed hair, hair that had once been as dark as her son's, for the similarity of their faces claimed such a relationship.
"Mama, come greet Master Robert, Grossier of Lynn," the wool merchant called, confirming Rob's supposition.
The old woman turned toward him, a smile starting to form on her mouth then she shrieked. The linen in her arms tumbled to the ground. Rob watched in astonishment as she turned her back on her guest, muttering Aves and furiously blessing herself.
"Mama!" Master Jehan cried, moving to his mother's side. "Clarice, come quickly!"
At his call the door in the inner wall flew open, releasing the smells and sounds of cooking food into the hall. A young woman with pretty eyes and golden brown hair rushed into this room. She was a match for her husband, with her scarlet gown, gold-trimmed belt, and fleece-lined mantle. Putting her arms around the old woman, she cried, "Mother Alwyna, what is it?"
"A ghost," the old woman said, her words broken by frightened gasps, "I have just seen a ghost."
With that, Rob moved to stand at the windows, his back to the room. It was a polite effort to grant the family a moment of privacy in which to sort out the old woman's strange behavior. Behind him, Master Jehan said, "Mama, gather your wits. The councilmen will begin arriving at any moment." There was enough concern in his voice to suggest that flights of fancy were not his dam's way.
The sense of being watched made Rob glance over his shoulder. The wool merchant's mother was staring at him. When her gaze met his she again started, the pink draining from her cheeks.
Fed by the danger Katel's plot had already put in his path, a chill shot up Rob's spine. It was said there were folk who could see the shade of coming death in a man's eyes. Was her reaction an omen, foretelling Katel's success?
This time the old woman lifted her chin and conquered whatever it was about him that frightened her. Without a word, she started toward him. He turned to face her. She stopped before him, still intently studying his features.
"What is it you see in my face, good wife?" he asked, keeping his voice soft and private as he struggled to tame his worry over her answer.
"I see the image of a man I once knew," she replied with an equal quiet. A frown of confusion formed on her brow. "This cannot be. I know all his sons, and you are not one of them. Surely, I am mistaken, " her voice trailed off into a question, saying she was not at all certain of this.
In the courtyard below the bell again chimed merrily. The wool merchant's mother started at the sound and whirled away from him.
"They come!" she cried, hurrying across the room to snatch up the linen she'd dropped. "Hie, hie, they come! Marta, fetch a fresh cloth for the table. Els, prepare a cup of spiced wine for Master Robert. Clarice—" the rest of her words cut off in the closing of the kitchen's door as all of the distaff side of the household disappeared.
So sudden was their departure the air whirled and danced in their wakes. Master Jehan stared after them in the helpless confusion that affected all men when dealing with Eve's daughters and their emotions. At last, he turned to his prisoner-cum-guest.
"Women! I apologize, Master Robert. I know naught what came over my dam. She is usually most sensible." He shrugged away his confusion and patted the back of one of the chairs. "Come, take your ease. I'll see to it you get your bite to eat."
Stanrudde
The hour of Sext
Saint Agnes's Day, 1197
While Rob dined on a full tray of cheese pie and cold meat slices, washing it all down with a cup of barley water instead of the spiced wine, the council arrived, one by one. As each man came, he stated his position on the matter at hand by either greeting Rob with an apology or passing him by to clutch in the corner nearest the windows. Since a position on the council required certain fiscal responsibilities for their districts, only the richest of Stanrudde's merchants were represented. Those who supported Rob's innocence included Master Edward, the grossier whose warehouse had burned, and a man Rob knew by his good reputation, a draper, t
wo fullers, and Master Jehan and his father-by-marriage and fellow wool merchant, Master Gerard. At the window stood another draper, a goldsmith, two iron mongerers, and a miller. The last to arrive was the spice merchant.
Startled, Rob watched Katel enter. Why was he surprised to find the spice merchant was a council member? In order to carry off so outrageous a plot, Katel would have needed to be beyond suspicion and reproach as only a city father would be.
In that instant, Rob deeply regretted leaving his personal book in Lynn. Recorded on its leaves was his step-by-step documentation of the original thefts and the investigation that led him from those far-flung fields to Katel's doorstep. As his original purpose had been to quietly resolve the issue without exposing Katel's deeds, he'd left it behind. Now he saw that without this proof in hand, his accusation would not be believed.
Well, it was an easy enough thing to retrieve. Lynn was but a half-day's ride if a man owned a hardened seat and a strong horse. Hamalin had both. He could be there and back in but a day and a night's time. With that comforting thought in mind, he studied Katel.
The change was startling. Gone was the comeliness, taken by the years and concealed beneath his excess weight. The maroon color of Katel's tunic only enhanced the sickly undertone that lurked beneath his now florid coloring. No doubt it was the rottenness that had ever lived in him finally eating its way to the surface.
Katel glanced at Rob as he greeted Master Jehan. Pleasure and disappointment tangled in his gaze. It said that, although the spice merchant had hoped Rob would have already hung, Katel retained complete confidence that Rob would not escape this fate.
With all assembled, Master Jehan invited the council to seat themselves. Resembling Christ's disciples in their number if not their wisdom, the twelve filed behind the table to find a place on the waiting benches. As they did so, the kitchen's door opened and the wool merchant's mother slipped quietly into the room to sit in one of the chairs near the hearth. Offering Rob a glance that might have been meant to reassure, she disappeared into the shadowy depths of the seat's high back.
Once again Rob shielded himself in his cloak of calm and stepped forward to scan the assembled merchants. When he had their full attention, he said, "Masters, you have called me here to inquire of me and my doings. Ask and I will answer you in all honesty. On this you have my word."
The miller leaned forward to look down the table at the others. "If we are to keep up the form, must he swear upon the relics?"
Rob's pride screamed, but there was no need to defend himself this time. Master Edward, the grossier, slammed a clenched fist down upon the tabletop. Anger at the insult done to one of his fellows was written clearly on his face.
"This is Robert of Lynn," he shouted, "not some regrater selling onions today and ribbons tomorrow. You do not ask if his word is good. All the world knows it is."
Katel straightened on his bench. "I would confirm what Master Edward says. When Master Robert served with me in Master Walter's household, he was never anything but truthful and honest. I cannot think that time has done aught to change that about him. We can accept his word without question."
Anger surged through Rob. Katel intended to support him, thereby making his own accusation impossible, at least one uncorroborated by evidence. Rob damned himself all over again. How could he have forgotten Katel never fought in the open as honest men should, but forever cloaked himself in appearances?
"Thank you, Master Katel," Master Edward said, then looked at Rob. "Know you Master Robert, I have protested your innocence to them from the first. If I can do so despite that the mob destroyed my properties, then these men should accept my word as true! Once again, I beg pardon for the insults they lay upon you."
"You'll not beg his pardon on my behalf," one of the smiths bellowed, his voice as big as the arms straining beneath his sleeves. "I see no reason to doubt that it was he who did this. What other reason would the starving have to cry against him, save that it was his grain they could not afford to buy? He is not a local man."
"All the more reason to ask yourself if it could have been him at all, Master Harold," Master Jehan protested. "We can all agree that Master Robert is no fool. Only a fool would come into a strange town and openly release illegal grain in his own name."
"Aye, and mayhap this is what he expects us to believe," Master Harold stubbornly insisted. "I say we have our culprit. We have no greater responsibility than to hold him for the sheriff as we would any other man accused of lawbreaking. And in holding him we not only satisfy those who call for his destruction because of the damage done to their properties, we also free ourselves of any connection to him." The smith brushed his palms, one against the other, as if removing from his gloved fingers any trace of Rob.
"Nay, we cannot!" a draper cried. "I tell you all, if we think to wait for the sheriff's arrival, there will be more upheaval. This time, they'll destroy our homes and livelihoods! We must hang him today. Only in this way will all truly be satisfied and we be free of threat."
"I will not see a fellow tradesman hanged simply because a crowd calls for it, despite that I am threatened," Master Gerard retorted in angry scorn. Even the outspoken smith nodded his head in agreement to this.
Gratified that the council would not bend in this direction, Rob took a step toward the table to reclaim their attention. "Masters, please. It would greatly aid me if you told me last night's tale." Aye, he needed to look at what Katel had done so he might know how to block the next twist.
Master Harold, the smith, turned on him. "You ask for what you already know! Yesterday, did your agent skulk about our town, calling in secret and under-handed ways to those brave or foolish enough to deal in outmarket grain. To these regraters did he sell what he had, promising them more on the morrow. These idiots took their illegal goods onto the streets and all too swiftly sold what they had at great profit to themselves. This left others yet clamoring for what was already gone, while still others cried for what they needed and could not afford. That's when those regraters let slip that there was supposedly more in store. A mob formed, the rabble going off in search for what your agent had promised for the morrow. It was you who set our town ablaze!" His outrage filled this room with its volume.
Rob waited until the ringing echoes died before speaking. "Who says it was my agent?"
"The regraters." This came from the goldsmith. He leaned forward as he spoke, bracing his elbow on the table. His handiwork, a chain with links shaped like arrowheads, glittered as he moved. "Some in the crowd were not content with seeking out grain; instead, they sought to punish those who would make a profit on their misery. They beat the regraters, trying to steal what coins they'd earned. When the guard rescued them, they most gratefully spilled their tale."
"This you believe?" Rob asked in surprise. "I've never known those who participated in illegal acts to be honest about their crimes. But that is neither here nor there. It could not have been my agent, as he was within the abbey walls all of yesterday and last even. So will every monk who saw him swear."
"It was his man," Master Harold insisted, looking up and down the table's length at his fellow council members. "Did not the regraters describe the one from whom they'd bought their grain as young, comely, and fair of hair with red in his beard? Many have seen such a man in the grossier's company. Aye, and this fellow spoke with a strange dialect, just as Lynnsman would be wont to do."
"There are hundreds of men who answer to that description," Rob's fellow grossier replied with a snort, "and dialects can be affected. I tell you, masters, this is Robert of Lynn. If he vows it was not his agent or his wheat that is enough for me. We must look elsewhere."
"Look elsewhere?" At the table's end, Katel shifted as if struck by this comment. "While I also doubt Master Robert is at fault for what happened last night, I must remind the council it is not our duty to look anywhere at all. I agree with Master Harold. All that the law requires of us is that we hold for the sheriff those against whom the hue and
cry is raised, as has been done in this instance. It is not for us to decide whether Robert the Bastard is guilty or innocent of the charges."
If Rob refused Katel the reaction he no doubt thought to dig from him with that name, Mistress Alwyna had not his control. The old woman nigh on leapt out of her chair, then turned in the seat to stare at him. Her gaze begged him to confirm that he was, indeed, bastard-born. Pride made Rob lift his shoulder until he could not see her.
"Ach," Katel said, his brows drawing down, his face the picture of regret. "Pardon Rob, but I forget me that you've no fondness for that name. I apologize to you and the council for the habits of my youth."
Rob looked away from him, forcing down hatred as he pondered over why Katel might desire the sheriff's involvement. It could only mean there was some sort of trail connecting Rob to the grain. If the council dared to insist he remain in Stanrudde for the sheriff's arrival, Rob would see to it there was more than one trail for the shire's lawman to follow. But already the majority of the council swung in the direction of releasing him. A smile of triumph formed in Rob's heart if not on his face, as he prepared to deal the blow that would free him from Katel's trap.
"Master Katel is right," Rob said as he again scanned the assemblage. "Your council must keep to the law. Since my oath alone does not convince you that I speak the truth, I will stay in Stanrudde's abbey while I await the sheriff's arrival. To him will I spill my evidence and my vows."
"Nay," cried Master John, the cowardly draper. "The crowd will tear us apart!"
"Enough," the goldsmith said, his disgust cutting through the man's complaint. "You did not hear what Master Robert just said to us. If the sheriff proves him innocent as he vows he is, then each day we hold Master Robert here under false arrest, might he not be calculating the sort of damage we do his repute? I fear he even now considers suing us for defamation."
The room went silent. All eyes, save Katel's, turned on Rob. Rob but lifted his brows at this very real possibility.
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