Caught Red-Handed

by Denise Domning

  Peering into the dimness, he identified two stalls directly ahead of him. Each had a chest-high withe panel for a door. Between him and the stalls a double door cut into the back wall. No doubt it opened up into the toft, allowing the owner to move animals in and out as needed.

  With that, another piece fell into place. If Waddard's home was the same as this one, this door was how Dickie escaped without his parents noting. He'd only needed to creep into the stable and use this door, leaving it unbarred behind him.

  Right now, Bett's stable door was not only closed but barred. Tibby was still here. Opening the half-door, he stepped inside, the thick layer of straw muffling his footsteps.

  He stopped and closed his eyes. Filtering out Bett's continuing curses and demands that Alf release her, he caught the sound of rustling. It came from the darker of the two stalls, the one filled at its back with a dark mound. That could only be hay, fodder for the winter.

  Its door was slightly ajar. Cloaked in shadows, her back to him, Tibby knelt in front of the haystack. The movement of her arms said she pushed something deep into that loose pile, doing her best to make no sound as she worked.

  Stepping inside, Faucon pulled the door closed behind him, in case the girl thought to run, and stopped a few feet behind her. Tibby shot a swift glance over her shoulder then freed a wild cry. She leapt to her feet, her hands clasped at her heart.

  "Mama?!" she cried, sounding panicked.

  "Tibby! What are you doing to my daughter?" came Bett's frightened response. "Let me go, let me go," she begged of Alf this time.

  In the stall, Tibby put her hands on her hips and drew herself up in a parody of her mother's bold manner. "Go away! Leave me alone!"

  "Oh lass, it's too late for that," Faucon told her. "I know what you and Dickie were doing when you weren't trysting. I also know what you put into that pile."

  That was all it took. Tibby's false courage drained from her. Even in the dimness Faucon could see her chin began to quiver. He closed his hand around one of her wrists. She yelped but didn't resist. Then, shoulders shaking, she began to weep.

  "Alf, I need you in here," Faucon called.

  "Nay, you have no right to enter! Stop, stop I say!" Bett cried helplessly, her protests marking Alf's passage toward the stable.

  Alf entered with Bett directly behind him. She'd wrapped her free hand in his belt, doing her best to stop him while carrying the yet-burning lamp in her other hand. When Alf opened the stall door, Bett pushed herself away from him, stumbling to a halt at the wall between the two stalls.

  "Dastard!" she chided Faucon. "You have no right to be in my home, nor have you the right to touch my daughter. You'll let her go and leave!"

  "Hold the girl for me," Faucon commanded Alf.

  Lips trembling and her tears yet flowing, Tibby meekly allowed Alf to close his hand around her upper arm. Faucon went to kneel at the front of the stack. Thrusting his hands into it, he sifted through the loosely stacked straw. Its sweet, green smell filled the air, a reminder of the summer just past.

  Tibby hadn't had time enough to do a proper job of hiding them. Faucon pulled out a length of tattered fabric. Leaving it on the ground in front of him, he again reached into the straw. There was no mistaking the flake of dried blood. This time, he brought forth the hood that had prevented Dickie from seeing his assailant. It was rolled around a dark-colored tunic that was also filthy with dried blood.

  Gathering the garments in his arms, he returned to his feet. A handsome, black-haired boy of no more eight now clung to the jamb of the stable doorway. Dressed only in a blanket, his curling hair sleep-tossed and his eyes heavy-lidded, he stared at Faucon, wide-eyed.

  Faucon shook out the tattered cloak, holding it up for all to see. Tibby's sobs became hiccoughs. She turned her face to the side as if she couldn't bear to look upon the proof of her sin.

  Bett's mouth opened in shock as she recognized the garment. "Nay, that cannot be!" Then the woman grimaced in revulsion. "That thing— that thing cannot be here!"

  "That's not all I found," Faucon said. Draping the cloak over his arm, he showed Tibby's mother the bloodied tunic and hood.

  Bett moaned then crossed herself. "Get those away from us," she pleaded, sounding as terrified of the clothing as she was of the one she believed had worn them.

  "If I search a little longer will I find Dickie's garments and his shoes?" Faucon asked the girl.

  Tibby began to tremble. Her knees gave way. As she sank to kneel on the ground, Alf released her.

  She stared at the straw in front of her as she spoke. "They weren't anywhere in the smithy when I found him."

  "Should they have been?" he asked her.

  She gave a watery nod. "When he— his garments would have been in a sack. When he walked, he carried them with him on his back, hidden under his cloak. They—" A sob overtook her and she fell silent.

  "Where in the smithy did you find the cloak and hood?" Faucon wanted to know.

  Tibby gasped for a moment, her body almost convulsing, as she fought to catch her breath. "The hood he yet wore. His cloak was laid to one side," she whimpered without looking up.

  Faucon nodded as another piece slipped into place. "And where was he when you found him?"

  Still watching her feet, she gagged a little. "He was on his belly on the smithy floor. He was still bleeding," she moaned.

  Raising her watery gaze to look at him, Tibby struggled to speak. Her mouth quivered so badly her words were hard to understand. "I— had to drag him to the anvil," she gasped out. "I was crying so that I could hardly see. But I had to take those—" she pointed to the garments he held. "I had to. I didn't want anyone to know what he'd— what we'd— done."

  She dragged in a breath. "It was so hard. I sat him up so I could—" She sobbed soundlessly for a moment.

  "There was so much blood," she cried. Extending her hands, she turned them palms up and stared into them. By the light of her mother's lamp, Faucon could see the brownish stains her sweetheart's blood had left upon her flesh. "When I pulled off the hood, it smeared across his face. I didn't want to leave him— I tried to clean away some— but I only made it worse."

  "Was the smithy always where he began and ended his walk?"

  She shook her head at that.

  "Then where?" Faucon wanted to know.

  "In the west field," she managed. "That's where everyone said Raymond appeared and disappeared."

  "Then why was he in the smithy last night?" Faucon asked.

  Again, Tibby's sobs cheated her of breath. "Dickie was so angry at Aldo for sending him away when he'd done no wrong. He said we needed to find some way to shame him. We were going to—" her voice trailed into silence.

  She tried again. "We were going to—" She turned her head to the side, buried her face in her hands and gave a tiny, horrified cry.

  "You were going to tryst there," Faucon said for her. Taking Tibby in Aldo's shop would have been Dickie's way of biting his thumb at his uncle, even if Aldo never learned what they'd done.

  "I don't understand any of this," Bett cried, her voice pitched somewhere between heartbreak and panic. "What are those things doing in my home? How is it you have them, Tibby?"

  When Tibby didn't lift her head from her hands to answer, Faucon asked the girl, "Will you not explain to your mother how you and Dickie have been hoodwinking her and your neighbors?" His voice was softer than she deserved. But then, what came next for her would likely be a torment worthy of hell.

  Tibby's only response was another tiny horrified cry.

  Faucon looked at Bett. "Not only has your daughter been trysting with Dickie, but she's been helping Dickie play the role of Raymond in your track."

  Bett's mouth opened. Her eyes widened. As she understood the full meaning of what he'd said, her face whitened with something akin to terror. She sagged against the wall, trembling. Alf took her lamp from her, to prevent yet another catastrophe.

  "Tibby, how could you?" Bett cried, sounding
as frightened as she looked. "When the others learn what you've done, the whole village will rise up against us. We'll be fortunate if even one soul ever speaks to us again. God save us all!" Bett turned her plea for heavenly intervention into a horrified gasp. "What if they banish us? What will we do if they drive us away? How will we live?"

  Faucon reached down and closed his hand around Tibby's upper arm. When he tugged, she came to her feet without resisting, her face yet hidden in her hands.

  "Goodwife," he said to Bett, "I'm taking your daughter to the church with me. Your reeve and the others who hold vigil over Dickie's body must be told what she and he have been doing."

  When Bett began to weep, it was in great gusting sobs that Etta no doubt heard from across the track.

  "But that isn't possible," Heyward protested, his voice rising to a pained note.

  Holding the tattered cloak out in front of him, the blood-stained brown tunic and hood draped over his arms, Faucon stood in the nave, a few steps closer to the altar than Tibby. The moment that the girl caught sight of her dead love, hooded and bound, against the back wall, she'd refused to come any farther into the church. Faucon had granted her that much, but left Alf with her to see that she stayed where she stood.

  Tibby once more had her hands clutched at her heart. Every line of her body said facing the hangman would be less fearsome than what she was now being asked to do. Bett had been wrong. The dead Dickie hadn't needed to walk to steal Tibby's soul.

  As for Bett, she stood a little behind her daughter and Alf. Although she'd snatched her headcloth before leaving her home, tying it around her head as they walked, her hair yet flowed free around her. Slow tears made their way down the woman's cheeks, dropping unheeded onto the breast of her gown. Yet wrapped in his blanket, her son clung close to her, his arms around her waist, his head pressed against her arm.

  "Heyward, look at the garments," Watt told the old man, a sharp edge to his voice. "They are exactly what they appear to be, Raymond's attire." The heavyset man folded his arms as he spoke. In his upset he forgot he held a cup in one hand. Plum wine dribbled onto the floor as it tilted.

  "I can only agree with Watt," Aldo said, glancing at his neighbors. "These are Raymond's garments. Haven't we all seen him wear them when he walks?" Repressed anger made his words hard.

  The moment Aldo understood why Faucon brought his paramour and her family to the church, he'd backed away until there was a good distance between them. Bett was right to worry over how she and her children might be punished for Tibby's misdeed.

  "It looks like Raymond's cloak, and his hood and tunic," Gervis agreed reluctantly.

  "Is that why Dickie died, because he stole Raymond's garments from him?" Tom suggested tenuously, his brow creased. "But if Raymond killed Dickie for that theft, then why did he leave his garments behind after Dickie was dead?"

  Faucon wasn't certain if he wanted to laugh or shake his head in disbelief. Godin was right. These folk were wedded to the very idea of Raymond on their track. It would be hard for them to let that go.

  "These garments never belonged to Raymond," Faucon said to Tom, his words meant for all the men in the church.

  He looked at Tibby. "Where did you and Dickie get them?"

  Head still bowed, the girl drew a broken breath. It took her a moment to push the words off her tongue. "From the merchants who passed by our doors. Dickie used Goodman Waddard's silver—"

  Although her mouth continued to move, she made no sound. She gasped. Her nose reddened as another round of tears began to dribble down her face. When she again opened her mouth, words exploded out in a rush.

  "It wasn't just Dickie. It was all of us. Dickie only played Raymond some of the time. When he couldn't win free for the night, Will, Rob, or Matty—" As she offered these names, she looked from Gervis to Bertie and then to Watt, "—would play the role in his place. Whoever knew he could escape his home that night would be Raymond."

  Faucon's brows rose. The meaning of Godin's cryptic words suddenly became clear. So too did he see why Jilly hadn't been frightened to walk the track at night. It seemed Raymond's true identity had been a closely-guarded secret among some of Mancetter's children.

  The fathers of the three named lads swayed in unwelcome surprise. Watt dropped his wooden cup. It skittered away from him on the slick tile. "By God, I'll have his hide for sure," he snarled, and started for the door.

  "Stop, Watt," Aldo commanded.

  Watt stopped. His fists clenched. Bright color flushed his face. "Do you dare try to prevent me from punishing my own son?" he shouted at his reeve.

  "Of course not," Aldo retorted, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace. "He's your son. But there's something important you must hear, really hear, before you leave."

  Aldo looked at Faucon. "My mind is clear now. Tell them and make them accept it as you have done for me."

  Faucon glanced from man to man, then let his gaze come to rest on Watt. "Think on it," he urged the raging father. "If what Tibby says is true, and it was Dickie's turn to play the role of Raymond last night, it couldn't have been Raymond who killed him, not unless Dickie killed himself, which I'm absolutely certain he did not. So if that much is true, who among you killed that boy?" He pointed toward Dickie's corpse as he continued. "For it could only have been one of your neighbors who did this deed."

  Watt's hands opened. His eyes widened as the anger drained from his face. "Holy Mother, save me," he breathed in prayer. "Sir, I didn't mean it when I said I'd considered killing Dickie. He isn't dead because of me, you must believe me!" he cried, in more plea than protest.

  "Nay, it cannot have been any of us," Heyward said, the former certainty in his voice now shredded by doubt and not a little shock. "How could it be? We all know that Raymond promised to kill Juliana and his own son. Didn't he return when Waddard wed Juliana just as he'd vowed to do? Didn't he nearly break down Waddard's door, trying to reach her and Dickie so he could do the deed? Nay, it can only have been Raymond! None of us would have done such a thing," he strove again to insist. Instead, his voice trailed off into an uncertain silence.

  Bertie shook his head as one stunned. "This cannot be true. We've all seen Raymond time and again. How could we look at him and not have recognized one of our own boys?" He sounded as lost as Heyward. "But what of that time Raymond disappeared right before our eyes while we chased him. We all saw it, didn't we Gervis? How could any of our boys have done that?"

  That had Gervis nodding. "You're right, no living soul can do that."

  Faucon looked at Tibby. She now visibly trembled. He wondered if she might faint. "Do you know anything about this?" he asked her.

  "That was Will," she replied with the tiniest of nods, her voice quivering along with her limbs. As she said that, she lifted her head and her gaze flickered to Gervis before returning to the floor. "He said that the three of you drew so close he feared being caught. So he ceased to move as Raymond, and instead hurried ahead. He said he was so frightened it felt as if his heart might explode from his chest. When he thought he was far enough, he fell forward between the rows and pressed flat against the earth. You had all stopped some way behind him, looking to see where he'd gone. As you walked in circles, he crawled ahead in the row. There he stayed until you left the field."

  Gervis's expression could have been carved from stone. "He crawled like the worm he is," he muttered.

  Beside him, Bertie turned his back on the girl. "I can't hear any more of this. I'm going home."

  "But the vigil," Heyward cried in worry. "Dickie must be watched."

  Gervis only shook his head and went to take one of the torches he'd left at the back wall. "You'll have to watch him without us," he said, lifting it to the flaming brand on the wall above him. As it flared into new life, he turned toward the door. Bertie joined him.

  "I'll walk with you," Watt said and the three started across the nave. None of them glanced at Tibby as they passed her.

  "But what of Dickie?" Heyward
protested again, throwing his cry at the backs of his departing neighbors. "Who will stop him if he rises?"

  "I'll yet be here," Faucon replied, offering the old man a reassuring nod. Just then the sacristy door squeaked open and Brother Edmund entered. Faucon's nod to the monk encouraged Edmund to join him. "And as you can see, my clerk and my man are here as well.

  "What of you, Tom?" Faucon asked of the slight man. "Will you also stay?"

  Tom, whose daughter was too young to have participated in this youthful mummery, shrugged at that. "I told my wife I wouldn't be back before dawn. If I knock on the door now, it might frighten her. I may as well stay."

  "As will I," Aldo said, his tone flat. He looked at his paramour. "Take your daughter home, Bett."

  "Aldo?" Bett filled his name with all her shattered hopes for their future.

  "Not now," was all he said.

  With a noisy gasp, Bett grabbed Tibby by the hand. Pulling her daughter around with her, she started after the departing men, moving slowly so she kept well back from them. Her shoulders shook, saying she cried. Her son followed close behind her, yet holding a fold of her gown skirt as if he feared he might lose her.

  As Alf and Brother Edmund came to stand with Faucon, the monk frowned as he watched Bett's boy close the church door behind him. "Where do they all go?" he asked. "I thought they meant to spend the night."

  "So they did, but circumstances have changed," Faucon replied, as Tom and Heyward retreated to the pile of hay. Two of the three jugs of wine had been opened in his absence. Tom's sack was now spread on the floor near the pile. Placed atop it was a small wheel of golden cheese and a few sausages. Faucon wondered if the ruin of an enjoyable evening— at least for the men who'd come for the vigil— would be another thing for which Mancetter's folk blamed Dickie.

  "And the reeve also intends to stay," Faucon added as Aldo joined them.

  He offered the smith an apologetic smile as he began to bundle the garments draped over his arms into the cloak. "Would that I'd found something other than I have," he said, speaking to Aldo in French this time.