Caught Red-Handed

by Denise Domning

  His comment sent scorn dancing across Heyward's well-worn face. The old man's pale eyes narrowed. "You mistake me, sir. Aldo's my reeve, not my liege lord or my master. I don't need any man's permission to speak to whomever I choose about whatever I will. Ask your questions. But know as you do that I'll tell you the same as Aldo did. I'll do that not because it's what Aldo has in any way told me to say, but because it's the truth. Raymond killed his own son."

  Heyward leaned a little closer to his Crowner, his eyes alive in anticipation of sharing his tale. "Know that what I tell you tonight is something I wager you'll hear from no one else in this place. That's because I can tell you why Raymond killed his son."

  "Why would no one else be willing to speak to me of this?" Faucon asked in wry curiosity.

  "Because all of them— every one— are terrified to their bones of speaking of Raymond. They fear that if they utter a single word, they'll attract that godforsaken creature to them. I know better. Didn't I say my piece out loud and before witnesses years ago? Not once since then has Raymond taken any more note of me than he has of anyone else. The worst I've suffered is to have my slumber disturbed by his distant groans and moans."

  "Well then, since you're the only one who'll speak of Raymond, speak to me now. Tell me why you believe he killed his son." As he said this, Faucon prepared himself for what he was certain would be a long-winded tale.

  Heyward's lips spread into a hard and gap-toothed grin. "Because that bitch's son remains the same mean-spirited ass in death that he was in life. I tell you, sir, if I thought it would help in the least bit, I'd join your clerk at the altar and pray yet one more time that our Lord aids us in ending Raymond's evil visits."

  "But there is a way to end them," Faucon told him. "We need only find Raymond's corpse, dismember it, then have it re-interred whilst a churchman speaks the proper words over the new grave."

  "And therein lies our problem. We don't know where Raymond's corpse goes to rest after the sun rises. He didn't die in Mancetter," the old man protested.

  Faucon smiled at that. "Hear me now. By the time I depart your village, you'll no longer by plagued by Raymond, even if I must run him to ground like a boar."

  For one astonished instant Heyward gaped at his Crowner. "By God, sir, you are heaven-sent," he cried. "At last, someone willing to help us!"

  "Have you not asked for help before now?" Faucon asked, a little surprised. Being plagued by a walking corpse was nothing to ignore.

  "We have indeed. A year ago, when Raymond again walked our track, we sent a message to our bishop. Monks came, but for the whole while they stayed, Raymond made not one appearance. When they left, they said we were confused. They said we shouldn't summon them again until Raymond caused someone to sicken or die. I say Raymond knew they were here and stayed away."

  Then the oldster bent his neck to his Crowner. "Sir, a thousand pardons for our niggardly greeting to you and yours this evening. When I tell my neighbors what you've said, everyone, even Bett, will agree that you are well come to Mancetter."

  "I took no insult from what occurred earlier this evening," Faucon assured him. "Moreover, I'm pleased to be of use to you and yours. Now, before you tell me what you know of Raymond and Dickie, I say we make ourselves comfortable. Come and sit with me."

  Retreating to the hay-filled corner, Faucon shifted the grassy pile to his satisfaction then threw his cloak atop the new stack. He sat, his back braced against the wall behind him, then folded his legs tailor-fashion. As he settled in, the crushed hay beneath him released a faint scent filled with sweet hints of the summer just passed.

  "Join me," he invited Heyward, who remained on his feet next to him.

  "If you insist and only if you give me your vow to help me rise once we're done speaking. I don't rise and fall the way I once did," the old man laughed as he lowered himself to sit against the wall next to his Crowner.

  "You have my vow," Faucon replied, smiling. "So what can you tell me of Dickie's death or his doings yesterday?"

  "Naught at all," Heyward said, with a shake of his head as he rearranged the straw beneath him until he was comfortable. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles, then leaned the back of his head against the church wall, his face turned toward his Crowner.

  "I never once saw Dickie yesterday. That's because I spent the whole day with my daughter-by-marriage at her parents' house. Well, it's now her house— what with her parents being dead— and my son's along with her. Just as Juliana inherited from her father, so did Nan."

  Here, Heyward paused as if mulling over what next to say. "Sir, no offense, but if I'm to tell you what you wish to know and do it rightly, I'll need to tell you more than you're asking to learn," he warned his Crowner.

  "Speak as you will," Faucon agreed without hesitation. Then again, why not let the man satisfy himself? He had nothing else to do and he was here for the whole night.

  "We've more heiresses in Mancetter than most places. That's because some years ago, our previous lord, in need of more slingers, took a good number of our sons to Ireland with him. He was expanding his holdings there. This he did over our protests and tears. Just as we feared, far fewer of our lads returned to us than departed. But such is war, is it not? I remain grateful that my son was among those who returned.

  "Because of that, now at a time in my life when I expected to be a burden to my kin, I yet live in my own home, tending it for a grandson who won't inherit for years yet." Heyward grinned. "Or so I hope. Can't say as I mind too much. I sleep better by myself even in the cold rather than crowded in with six little ones," he offered with a shrug.

  "Anyway, Nan, my daughter-by-marriage, and I spent the day shelling nuts and cleaning barrels for her brines, doing it where we always do, at the back of their toft. That's as far from the track as we can be, out of sight and sound of any and all folk who might be moving upon that roadway. I saw no one save my own kin until the evening, when I was once more at my home. That's when I saw, or rather heard, Raymond on the track, just as I told you."

  Heyward leaned forward a little, bracing an arm on his thigh, and looked into his Crowner's face. "That's how late it was by the time I made my way home. I'd taken my evening meal with my son's family as I usually do. When I left them, the track was clear, no one else out and about. I'd closed and barred my door and was preparing the embers of my fire to be covered for the night when I caught the sound of Raymond's moans."

  "Can you tell me when that was?" Faucon wanted to know.

  "After dark as I said," Heyward replied, frowning.

  Faucon nodded. "Aye, but do you know whether that was before Vespers or after, or even as late as Compline?"

  Confusion filled the old man's face. "I don't know the churchly hours and where they fall well enough to say. Better to ask me if it was twilight or full dark, if the moon has yet to rise or is already high in the sky, or if dawn has begun to drive the stars from the heavens. Last night when I heard Raymond it was after full dark and the moon was already high. Perhaps someone else will know how to name the time by those other hours."

  Faucon tried again. "Do you happen to know, then, if Raymond is consistent about when he visits? Or does the timing of his walk change every night?"

  That had the old man pursing his lips. Heyward rubbed his bearded chin as he thought. "For certain, over this past year he's been making his walks closer to when dark first falls. But the same time each night? That I cannot say. I do know that the first year he started haunting us, his visits happened closer to dawn. The following year, it seemed he came a little earlier than dawn, but definitely still closer to dawn than midnight.

  "And then there were all those years until this one when he didn't visit at all. I've always wondered what happened to prevent him from coming during that span," the old man mused, his gaze shifting to his church's doorway as if he expected the walking corpse to appear in it.

  Releasing a quiet breath, Heyward brought his attention back to his Crowner.
"But here's the thing, sir. I didn't need to see Dickie yesterday to know what I've always known, the same as I knew a dozen years ago when Raymond first began to walk our track. Raymond always intended to kill that boy. You can ask Waddard. He'll tell you that I said that exact thing to him on the day he wed Juliana. I reminded him of Raymond's curse. I said he shouldn't throw his cloak over Dickie, that he daren't challenge Raymond's ownership of that boy. But Waddard wouldn't listen. He insisted on making the fatherless child he adored his own. This, when Raymond had more than once cruelly abused Waddard during his youth, despising him for a weakling."

  "So Waddard has been a cripple since birth?" Faucon asked, seeking to guide the old man toward some of what he sought to learn.

  "Nay, not crippled. The pain in his leg began only this year," Heyward said. "Waddard was a weak and sickly child. Had he been born to any other family in Mancetter, we might have asked that they put him out in the wilds whilst he was yet an infant. But Waddard had four older brothers. That's kin enough to bear the burden of caring for a weakling. Then our old lord took three of Waddard's brothers as soldiers, only one to return. While they were away, Waddard's eldest brother, Bill, who had remained in Mancetter, died along with their parents.

  "That's when all of us—" the circling movement of Heyward's hand indicated the whole of his village "—met to discuss what to do with a youth who wasn't well enough to care for his father's home or help in the fields, not even a little. Waddard wasn't even fit for tending the geese. Too much time out of doors left him fevered and coughing. Then Juliana's father—"

  Heyward paused and looked at his Crowner. "Just so you know, Juliana's sire was also known as Dickie. Juliana chose to name her son Richard after her father, thinking to call him Dickon. None of us would have it, not when we could taunt her sire by calling him Old Dickie. So, of course, her son became Young Dickie," he offered as a grinning aside.

  "Old Dickie spoke up then and there, offering to apprentice Waddard, bringing the boy to his wheel. Juliana's younger brother had passed a few years earlier, and Etta, her mother, hadn't once felt the stir of life in her womb after she gave birth to her boy.

  "Much to all of our surprise, Waddard proved to have the touch when it came to shaping clay. These days, he does so well that he pays his rents and all his other fees with coins. Everything he and Juliana craft is sold to the tinkers and other merchants who pass this way. Well, and to a few of us as well. That's his pitcher sitting there next to the altar by that tray. Waddard even has coin enough to hire his brother and his nephews to help do the chores that feed his family, the gardening and slaughtering."

  Here, the old man gave a sorry shake of his head. "Now isn't it an awful irony that the same wheel that saved Waddard's life and made him successful seems to have crippled him? But who could have known that would happen all those years ago?" he asked of no one in particular.

  "Was it Waddard himself, or just his weakness that drew cruelty out of Raymond?" Faucon asked, again bringing the old man back his Crowner's purpose.

  Heyward gave vent to a harsh breath. "Waddard's weakness. Weakness was like a goad to a bull for Raymond, driving him to hurt. Some say he might have one day outgrown that, but I don't believe it. Who was going to lead him to change when he had his own troop of supporters, egging him on in his cruelty?"

  The old man looked at Dickie's corpse. "That's a talent Raymond shared with his son. Young Dickie also had a way with the lads his age, drawing them to him, making them his own. But unlike Raymond, who created a troop of miscreants and evildoers out of his friends, Dickie's comrades have been nothing but pranksters, the lads doing the sorts of things that most lads will when they're on a lark. Wild for certain, but never vicious. Nor have any of them ever been destructive, at least not until a few nights ago, and only Dickie. For certain, they've none of them ever purposefully hurt another soul.

  "Would that I could say the same of my own son. Much to my shame, he was as bad as any of those who became one of Raymond's lackeys," Heyward offered on a sigh.

  "Little good shame does me now. At least I can say that the passing of the years has shown me how I and the rest of us in this vill were to blame for Raymond and his evil ways. We stayed silent when we should have raised our voices against him. We stayed our hands when we should have beaten our own sons for honoring Raymond before us. Mostly, we tolerated that boy when we shouldn't have, doing so because of who he was."

  "Who he was?" Faucon interjected swiftly, in case the man meant to gloss over this point.

  "The son of our then-reeve, Averet. Aye, and it's right that I put most of the blame on Averet, for he must carry that weight despite our forebears' error. You see, my father and our other fathers and grandsires were certain that good would follow good. Averet's father had been an especially good reeve. Thus, they invited Averet to inherit the position without requiring him to prove to us who he was on that day and who he might become as time passed.

  "Needless to say, Averet didn't live up to our faith in him. From the first, he took his position for granted, as if it could never be taken from him. Again, that's on us for not raising our voices to remind him that we could elect another in his place. I hope my son's sons will know better than we did," Heyward added.

  "So we tolerated Averet in his position, and in how he raised his sons. We said nothing as our reeve turned a blind eye to the misdeeds of his youngest and favorite, while punishing Aldo for doing the same."

  That had Faucon frowning in confusion. "But why, if Averet failed you as a reeve, would you now take Aldo in his place?"

  Heyward sent his Crowner a quizzical look, then shrugged as he scratched bits of hay off the back of his neck. "Well now, that's because Aldo isn't his father, is he? Despite that Aldo spends too much time thinking about how we do what we do, always forcing us to try ways he swears are new and better, his heart is always with us.

  "Truth be told, we were right to elect him. He's not only a better reeve, but a far better smith than his father ever was. As for Averet, if he'd had his way, Raymond would have followed him to the forge and into the position as our reeve. That's why Aldo was glad to leave Mancetter with our previous lord, even though he was no older than Dickie—" A jerk of his head indicated the dead boy at the wall. "—when he departed for war.

  "As it happened Aldo stayed away until after Raymond died, although neither he nor we knew that his brother was dead by then. By the time Aldo returned, his father was beginning his journey to whatever reward our heavenly Father intends for him. After Averet was buried, and having no idea where Raymond was, Aldo did as any heir would and claimed his father's home as his own. Not long after that, he also claimed his father's role in our village, with our approval," the old man offered with his thin-lipped smile.

  "As for Raymond, even if Aldo had never returned, that boy would never have become our reeve. Nor did Raymond have any future in smithery. Raymond wasn't one who cared to expend his efforts on daily labor."

  "Then how did he come to be married to Juliana?" Faucon asked. No father with any sense wedded his daughter to a man who refused to do what was necessary to keep her— and her potential children— fed and housed.

  "He had no choice. Raymond took Juliana against her will at a May Day festival, then, arrogant ass that he was, he bragged about what he'd done to his lackeys. He told them all that Juliana had fought him as she sought to protect her virginity.

  "When Old Dickie—" Heyward paused, eyeing his Crowner for breath. "In case you forgot, sir, that's Juliana's father. When Old Dickie, learned his daughter was with child by Raymond, he went to Averet and insisted that Raymond claim the babe as his."

  "Only claim his son? Weren't Juliana and Raymond married?" Faucon asked, shaking his head in confusion.

  "They would have been if Old Dickie had been able to bend his daughter to his will," Heyward retorted with a laugh. "You cannot imagine how hard he and Etta pressed Juliana to stand before the church door with Raymond. She steadfastly refused, eve
n threatening to die by her own hand if they forced her. She said she'd never give Raymond her vow of obedience.

  "At last, her father relented and begged her to instead handfast with Raymond. That way, if the babe should die in birth or shortly thereafter, Juliana's betrothal to Raymond could be broken, and she would be free. However, if the babe lived, the child could never be named bastard by any man. Juliana agreed to the handfast, doing so for the sake of her child, even though she trembled at the thought of what the future might hold for her.

  "In case you don't know, sir, for us here, a handfast is as good as speaking vows before yon door," Heyward added.

  "Well now, you can imagine that as hard as Juliana had resisted their union, Raymond fought even harder to escape it." The old man grinned again, the lift of his mouth radiating a hard pleasure. "The fool! How could he deny the babe after he'd crowed to all and sundry about what he'd done? Nor could Averet ignore his favorite's misdeed, not this time. Much to Raymond's astonishment, his father at last sought to bring his son to heel, demanding that Raymond claim the babe or be banished from his home and our village.

  "And so it was that the two wrapped cords around their wrists before witnesses. What Old Dickie hadn't considered was that, after resisting the union, Raymond might immediately press for the right to live with his handfasted wife." Heyward sent his Crowner a knowing look. "I tell you sir, it wasn't Juliana Raymond wanted when he demanded his rights. All he cared about was punishing those who had forced him to go where he didn't wish to be.

  "His request took Old Dickie aback for a bit. There was no one in his household who wanted that boy inside their walls. But what could they do? Raymond was Juliana's bound husband. There were witnesses. Worse still, Old Dickie now worried that Raymond, as husband to his daughter and the father of his grandchild, might actually inherit what belonged to him one day."