The Sticklepath Strangler

by Michael Jecks

  ‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. He called to Aylmer, who was falling behind them, sniffing at every bush. ‘And this happened a short time after the death of Denise, if the parson is to be believed.’

  ‘You think he isn’t?’

  ‘Well, he didn’t tell us the whole truth about how Athelhard died, did he? Never a hint that the vill rose up as one and murdered him.’

  ‘Maybe the folks went to him to confess. That would seal his lips.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘It also explains why Gervase is such a nervous wreck and why the people here live under such a cloud. A country priest with little education could all too easily jump to the conclusion that a murderer who ate his victims was possessed—’

  ‘Not only a country priest,’ Simon said shortly.

  ‘Simon, I apologise. I did not mean to pass comment on your own views. I was merely thinking aloud. But it would explain Gervase’s attitude, wouldn’t it? They killed the man whom they had blamed, and then they were forced to confront a terrible nightmare! They thought they had destroyed the beast who had slaughtered their children and eaten them – and then the killings continued! They must all be aware that they killed an innocent man.’

  ‘That’s what happens when the mob takes control and ignores the law,’ Simon said ponderously.

  ‘Do you really blame them, Simon? After all, you do share some of their feelings about ghosts and demons.’

  The bailiff grunted but didn’t speak. There was a world of difference in his mind between someone who believed in the supernatural and was sensible enough to fear demons, and someone who was prepared to break the law for whatever the reason. Apart from anything else, he was certain that the best people to control demons of any type were priests. Everyone else should steer well clear of them.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said thoughtfully, ‘they didn’t feel that they would receive any help from the law.’

  They had reached the vill now, and were passing the cemetery. Simon cast a quick look at the cross with its drooping cross member. ‘And your point? Other than to irritate me, of course.’

  ‘That was not my intention,’ Baldwin protested. ‘All I meant to say was that there are precedents for cutting up a body and burning it on a pyre. Sometimes people feel that it’s the only way to cleanse an evil soul.’

  ‘They must have been terrified of Meg’s brother,’ Simon considered.

  ‘Very.’ Baldwin stopped to whistle again at Aylmer, who was staring out over the cemetery with his head tilted to one side.

  ‘But although there were more murders, they didn’t attempt to kill anyone else.’

  ‘No,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘You sound unconvinced.’

  ‘I am unconvinced by everything I learn here. I had assumed that the deaths of the children were committed by one person, but that the death of the purveyor was a separate murder. Now I wonder… what if the purveyor was killed by the same person?’

  Simon looked at him curiously. ‘Why should you think that? He only disappeared.’

  ‘Yes. But I wonder whether his body had been mutilated, too? We’ll never know unless we find it,’ Baldwin said. ‘And then we would have a case where one murderer over a period killed one man, perhaps got a flavour for human meat, and then killed other, easier victims over time. That would make sense to me.’

  The bailiff shivered, but then a thought occurred to him. ‘If that’s the case, why should the murderer hide the first victim, the purveyor, and Aline, but leave the others to be found?’

  ‘A good question,’ Baldwin said. ‘Oh, what is the matter with the dog? Aylmer, get over here!’

  It was at that moment that they heard the first dog begin to howl, and as Simon saw the sudden intensity of Baldwin’s face, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arms begin to rise.

  * * *

  Gunilda shivered and licked her lips as she kneaded the dough for their supper. All about her the mill felt full of shadows, and whenever she looked up, she saw faces peering at her: in the darkened corners of the room, in among the timber baulks that made up the shafts, in between the great leather straps that connected one axle with another, even in the wattle of the walls. Everywhere faces were staring, watching and slavering in the dim candlelight.

  ‘Go away!’ she whispered as another one caught her attention. ‘He’s dead now, you can’t touch me. You don’t scare me.’

  ‘Mother, can I—’

  ‘Shut up, child!’ Gunilda snapped. ‘You can’t know anything. Leave me in peace.’

  Felicia sagged back. She felt the chill too, but she daren’t comment again. It had been fearsome living here with her father, knowing that he would come to her bed at night and make use of her like a whore, but somehow now that he was gone, her mother’s sudden collapse was still more terrifying.

  It was impossible for her to trust the boys in the vill. Several of them had made advances as she grew up, usually at harvest-time when the cider and ale had been flowing faster than usual and their blood was hot, or at springtime, when the weather warmed and the young shoots began to break the surface of the soil, and the thoughts of all the lads and lasses in the vill turned to rolling in the fresh grass. Not many had appealed to her. Peter atte Moor had grabbed her once, trying his luck; so had Drogo, one night when he was drunk, but Samson had been near, and Drogo soon released her. Not that she was interested in any of them. Only Vin. Vin was the one who had really tempted her. That was why she had given herself to him at the river that day. And why she had gone with him again last night.

  All through those years of abuse, her mother had been a source of sympathy; she had listened and comforted Felicia, often weeping with her as they rocked each other to sleep beside the snoring bulk of her father. Gunilda was desperate and lonely. She had lost her husband to her daughter, and witnessing Felicia’s nightly rape was tearing at her heart as her own misery grew, Felicia could see that. But Gunilda had never dared try to stop Samson. Every night as he roughly pushed or pulled at Felicia and mounted her like a dog on a bitch, Gunilda turned away, but that was all. Except recently she had taken to holding Felicia’s hand, just placing her fingers in Felicia’s palm as if to reassure her.

  Felicia had hoped that once Samson was dead, she and Gunilda might be able to live normally, free from the fear he inspired in both of them. It had felt like a miracle when she heard Gunilda scream, then her father’s hoarse cry, and had run to them to see her mother standing, her fists clenched at either side of her mouth while she shrieked. Felicia had felt concern that her father was hurt, but not because she thought that he might die: she hoped he would. He had been an unholy menace to her. She hated him.

  And when she realised he was dead, she felt no sadness, only a cold glee that had frozen her belly. There could be no more beatings, no more drunken fumblings. Now she need only submit to a man when she wanted to.

  Like Vin, she thought, smiling as she recalled the last night. He was beautiful, with his large eyes shining, his lank fair hair fine and silken in her hands, his skin gleaming in the bright moonlight. She had always liked him, and now she knew he loved her. It was only ever her father that separated them, he said. His fear of Samson.

  Gunilda moaned again as she stared at a dark corner of the room stacked with empty sacks. Her face was working, Felicia saw, and her eyes glittered with hatred. ‘Leave us alone!’

  Felicia was about to ask who she was talking to, but then Gunilda’s attention turned to her. Somehow her eyes looked through her. It was as though Felicia wasn’t there at all. On the woman’s face was an expression of utter terror.

  Whatever it was that Gunilda saw, or imagined that she saw, it was not human, Felicia knew. She threw a scared look over her shoulder, but there was nothing there. And then suddenly, Felicia could hear it: a voice that sounded oddly familiar – a voice filled with rage and fear.

  And the dogs began to howl.

  * * *

  Simon entered the inn with a sense of genuine reli
ef. It felt like a tiny sanctuary, away from the terrible noise outside. Seeing Meg had unsettled him, but the howling of the hounds had given him the willies, especially when he saw Aylmer bristle. Only when he was inside and could breathe the smoky atmosphere, see the light flickering on the walls from the candles and fire, did he feel safe.

  Baldwin was behind him, his teeth shining as he grinned. ‘You aren’t imagining that William of Newburgh’s stories could be true, are you?’

  ‘It’s all very well you talking smugly about superstitions and foolishness, but I tell you, ghosts exist, and many live on the moors,’ Simon said hotly. Christ, he needed a drink.

  The knight smiled and did not argue with his friend, but instead called to the taverner and demanded wine. ‘And where is the good coroner?’

  ‘He has been asked to visit the purveyor, sir. At the reeve’s house,’ William said.

  ‘Husband, I am glad to find you here again,’ Jeanne said, entering behind him.

  ‘My love.’ Baldwin was about to greet her more warmly when he saw the other woman with her.

  ‘This is Nicole, Baldwin, wife to the man Thomas Garde.’

  ‘I have met your husband,’ Baldwin nodded.

  ‘You helped save him from being arrested, my Lord, and I am grateful,’ Nicole said, bowing nervously. She had never spoken to a King’s Officer before, and it was daunting. ‘He paid his fine.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it.’

  ‘But Baldwin, the reeve has had him arrested again,’ Jeanne said impatiently. ‘This time for participating in a fight with his brother.’

  ‘Is this true?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Alexander had him thrown in gaol as soon as he could. He says Thomas tried to kill Ivo, but my husband would not attack anyone without being provoked.’

  ‘Good Heavens! Where is this fool Ivo?’ Baldwin demanded.

  Taverner muttered something about the stables, and was sent to find him.

  ‘There is something else,’ Jeanne said. ‘This woman says that Aline was pregnant when she disappeared.’

  ‘A girl so young? She was only eleven or so!’ Simon burst out with all the anger of fatherhood.

  Jeanne kept her gaze fixed upon her husband. ‘Nicole thinks that Aline had no boyfriends.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’ Baldwin asked, holding up a hand to stem Simon’s outrage.

  ‘That this peasant Swetricus has regularly slept with his daughters, and when he got Aline pregnant, he shut her up in the only way he knew.’

  Baldwin frowned. ‘If that were so, Jeanne, why should he kill the other girls? It is surely no coincidence that Denise and Mary and Emma were killed as well.’

  ‘There is one last thing. Ivo Bel was here when all the deaths occurred.’

  ‘How do you know? The first two girls died before the Gardes came here, so Thomas said,’ Simon interrupted.

  ‘It was Ivo who told us about their deaths,’ Nicole replied. ‘That was before he insulted me and tried to steal me from my husband.’

  It was then that Ivo entered with Taverner, and he overheard her last words. ‘I did nothing of the kind!’ he spluttered angrily, his voice still thick and nasal. ‘I have only ever behaved in an honourable manner to you, woman!’

  Simon felt his mood lighten to see what a hammering Ivo had received. ‘One man did that to you?’

  ‘I warned you, didn’t I? Tom’s rages are ferocious. You should be careful when he is angry, Bailiff.’

  ‘Enough!’ Baldwin said sharply. ‘We are not here to bicker, Bel. We are here to learn what you did to make your brother react so.’

  ‘He has wanted me ever since he first met me,’ Nicole said.

  ‘Rubbish. I am happily married,’ he scoffed.

  Simon peered at him. ‘Really? Have you forgotten that it was only this morning that you told me you regretted marrying your pig of a wife, and praising the “lovely thing”, your brother’s wife Nicole?’

  ‘I said that?’

  ‘By the river this morning.’

  ‘No, Bailiff, you are mistaken. I could never desire a poor creature like this.’

  Ivo threw out a hand to indicate Nicole, but he had misjudged the distance. His hand caught her about the eye, and with a startled cry, she snapped her head away. Then it was Ivo’s turn to squeak as he became aware of Simon’s sword blade at his throat.

  ‘If you so much as look at her again, Bel, I’ll shave your throat closer than ever before, you miserable dog’s turd! You slithering little worm! If nothing else, that action convinces me that you were lying. Weren’t you?’

  Ivo felt the wall at his back, but his eyes were fixed with appalled fear on the solid steel blade that pricked at his Adam’s apple. He was convinced that he could feel the sharpness of the point puncturing his neck, and dared not swallow lest he stab himself in the process. ‘Um hmm.’

  Simon withdrew the sword slightly. ‘Did you desire your sister-in-law here?’

  ‘I admit that I find her attractive.’

  ‘You told me this morning that your brother was a berserker when roused. Did you set him up to have him arrested?’

  ‘I may have taunted him a little.’

  Nicole spat out, ‘He said I had slept with him three times! My daughter heard him.’

  Baldwin joined Simon. His face was calm, but there was a look in his eyes that Bel didn’t like. ‘Is this true, Bel? Did you tell the husband that you had cuckolded him?’

  ‘I may have said something like that in the heat of the moment.’

  ‘In that case, you are lucky to have got away so lightly. Bel, you are an unnatural fellow. I will demand that you be amerced to appear in the next court to answer for your dishonesty. I shall also offer to appear in that court to see you convicted. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes, Sir Baldwin.’

  ‘Is it also true that you sold pork to Athelhard the brother of Meg just before he died?’

  ‘I did that in good faith. I never expected that someone else would think he had killed a child. Why should I? I sold it to him before anyone knew Denise was hurt and—’

  ‘Where did you get it from?’

  Ivo grew pensive. ‘Ah well, it was a long time ago.’ As Simon pushed the blade forward, he jerked his head back. ‘It was some meat given as a gift to the Prioress at Canonsleigh,’ he said rapidly. ‘I stole it, all right?’

  ‘Leave my sight, wretch. You make me want to puke!’ Baldwin said contemptuously. ‘I shall be writing to Canonsleigh. I recommend you don’t bother returning there!’

  While Bel scampered from the room, his terrified gaze on Simon’s sword, Baldwin smacked his balled fist into his palm. ‘The useless bastard!’

  Nicole shivered. She was wearing a light cloak which Jeanne had lent her, but tonight she could not get warm, not with her man in gaol. ‘My Lord, what about my husband? Please, Sir Knight! I cartnot sleep knowing that my man is locked away in a cell fearing what the morning might bring to him. He could die in there, and if I didn’t do all I could to have him released, I should be a poor wife indeed.’

  She had thrown herself at Baldwin’s feet, and he nodded, fully in sympathy.

  ‘Yes, I quite agree,’ he said, his anger not yet gone. ‘We shall go and speak to the reeve immediately.’

  * * *

  The noise of the dogs was getting on Coroner Roger’s nerves. He had stood outside the reeve’s house for some while before entering, gazing towards the cemetery, trying to work out what had made them start this confounded howling, but he couldn’t see anything.

  He had heard of such things before, baying at the moon for no reason, but he hadn’t experienced it and there was an odd edge to the dogs’ voices, an edge he didn’t like. There must be a full moon, he thought, but when he glanced upwards, the moon was hidden behind a single cloud. It looked as though it was illuminated from within by a pure white light, and was so beautiful that he had to stop and stare at it, delighting in the shadings within the cloud. At one moment he was a
lmost sure that he saw a face in it, but then the face was gone, and instead he was confronted by the moon, whose clear brilliance put the stars to shame.

  Reluctantly he trailed into the hall, where the reeve sat at his table, the purveyor a short distance from him.

  ‘This man just tried to bribe me,’ Sir Laurence said cheerfully. ‘I appeal him before you, Coroner, so that you can witness my evidence.’

  ‘It’s not true,’ Alexander said wearily. ‘But you want your scapegoat, so go on and arrest me. I’m past caring.’

  He was sitting with his arms on the table, his eyes downcast. Roger thought he looked the picture of a man who had lost everything.

  ‘Bring me a seat,’ the coroner snarled at Vin, who was leaning against the wall. Roger sat, grunting with the pain, and then cast a look at Alexander.

  There was a spark of defiance remaining in the man, Roger noted. Laurence hadn’t quite broken his spirit.

  He was right. Alexander could feel the anger simmering within him, but was determined to keep it concealed. He could achieve nothing by losing his temper. Not that it was very difficult to appear tired. For the first time in his life he was experiencing the bone-deep, numbing fear that came from the knowledge that he was lost. He could not persuade anyone of his innocence.

  ‘You deny trying to bribe me?’ Sir Laurence asked in his deceptively hearty way.

  ‘I did not offer. You demanded. You made it plain you wanted money to leave us alone.’

  ‘Is that what you heard?’ Sir Laurence asked Drogo, who stood scowling at the wall behind Alexander.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Reeve Alexander said. ‘I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t say such a thing. You think that I have never dealt with a King’s official before? How many stewards or reeves would address a stranger and immediately offer a bribe in front of witnesses without first finding out more about the man? If you want to arrest me, do so, but don’t insult my intelligence or try my patience with this foolishness.’