A Man's Word (The King's Hounds series)

by Martin Jensen

  “I’m not a murderer!” Sigurd’s voice was both defiant and on the verge of tears.

  “You’re not? I suspect the reeve will wonder why you ran away, then, despite his explicit order not to leave the inn.”

  “I’ll go with you tomorrow,” Sigurd said.

  “Give me your word.” I was still pointing the tip of my sword at them.

  Sigurd straightened up and held out his hand to me.

  “You have my word. I will accompany you to Thetford tomorrow.”

  And there you have it. That’s what a woman will do to a man.

  “Good.” I sheathed my blade. “In return, I will try to get you into town without the reeve discovering you left.”

  Gertrude, Sigurd, and Rowena all stared at me blankly.

  “Why?” Rowena asked, uncomprehending.

  “It just may be that I’m not all that wild about letting pompous thanes order me around,” I said with a smile.

  Of course the truth was that I wanted Winston to have a chance to question the boy, but my lie accomplished what I’d hoped it would: they were farmers and unwilling to think anything good of a thane. My little lie signaled to them that I shared their opinion, thereby making me one of them.

  Almost. I could see in Rowena’s eyes that she remembered it was my nobleman’s sword that had forced them to comply.

  “Now go.” I waved them away with my hand. “You have a night before we ride.”

  Rowena looked to Gertrude for permission, and when Gertrude nodded her consent, Rowena pulled her boyfriend behind her up the ladder to the alcove under the rafters, which she shared with the other girls and slave wenches. The girls and wenches, in turn, all sat down on the benches that ran along the sides of the hall.

  “So you’re giving them one night,” I said, smiling at Gertrude, who looked back at me with a weighty expression.

  “I’ll give them all the nights they want. Sigurd didn’t kill Darwyn or Arnulf.”

  I didn’t say anything. I was sure they were lying about something.

  Winston would have to help me untangle that lie once we had the boy alone without his girlfriend, from whom he clearly took his strength.

  “It’s a shabby man who doesn’t want to avenge the rape of his girlfriend,” I said, looking across the table at the mistress of the house.

  “Sigurd is not a shabby man.” Her whole face blushed. “But he does not go against his father’s wishes.”

  “His father prevented him from taking revenge?” I asked.

  “His father knows what happens when a farmer kills the son of a thane.”

  As did I. The whole village would have been nothing more than charred ruins.

  “So they were counting on the Hundred Court?”

  She nodded.

  “Like Arnulf, they trusted that the court would give Rowena her redress.”

  But the court hadn’t. And Gertrude had just said that Sigurd’s father had kept Sigurd from taking action on his own in the hopes that the court would side with them.

  When the court ruled unjustly, that freed Sigurd to act.

  18

  I slept heavily that night. The ride had taken its toll on me, and Brigit hadn’t given me much time to sleep the night before. Brigit. I sent a thought her way before sleep overcame me, and when I woke early in the morning, it was from a dream about her voluptuous body.

  The hall was silent. I heard sleep sounds from the benches, but for me, who had sometimes shared a room and even a bed with Winston’s deafening snores, these noises were like mere puffs of breeze through the heather.

  The light in the hall was dim. The fire had burned itself out overnight, and a slave must have put out the torches after he came back in from seeing to Sigurd’s horse.

  I glanced over at the ladder for the alcove, which I’d removed and laid down on the floor before I turned in. It was still down, so I felt confident that Sigurd hadn’t used the cover of night to sneak away.

  Which I hadn’t seriously expected him to do. There was someone to keep him here. All the same, I figured it was wisest to take precautions.

  From outside the window over my bed I heard a starling singing. Dust motes floated in the rays of sunlight. I folded my hands behind my head and stared into the air.

  Winston had asked if he was the only one who wondered how Arnulf’s widow would take the news of his death. I had also wondered as I rode here the day before.

  And I had been surprised.

  I had been expecting confusion. I thought she’d be cast adrift at having been left behind by a power-hungry husband, that she’d be worried about all the decisions she would face.

  I had not anticipated Gertrude’s undisguised joy.

  Nor the ease with which she would start doling out orders.

  My thoughts turned to Sigurd. I had at first taken him for a naïve boy, but I now knew that he had restrained his own desire for vengeance once he realized what it would have cost the village.

  I still say it is a shabby man who does not avenge his girlfriend’s rape, but it is a wise man who bides his time.

  I yawned, swallowing some of the dust that danced in the flickering sunlight. The cough that resulted made me sit up with my back against the plank wall.

  And maybe, I thought, it is a great man who can refrain from acting on his thirst for revenge and leave the matter to the law.

  I smiled as it occurred to me that that was just what the king had promised us back in Oxford. That the law would prevail and England would be governed by its rules.

  And now Arnulf and Sigurd had seen what that law was worth. Its weight was determined by the men who enforced it. Arnulf had been forced to kiss the silver good-bye that should have been his to compensate for the wrong he had suffered. And Sigurd? He had seen his chances of revenge evaporate, as well as any hope of getting the woman he hoped to marry. Had he sought revenge and stabbed Darwyn, that piglet of a nobleman, to death when he got the chance? And then wiped Arnulf out for reneging on all his agreements? I had seen young men behave worse than this when they were in love.

  I heard rustling from the slaves’ bench, followed by a loud yawn from the bed where the mistress of the house lay alone.

  I shook my head. It was likely that Sigurd had committed both murders, but regardless my task now was to take him back to Thetford where Winston could weigh in on the matter. And Alfilda, I thought grudgingly.

  I heard steel strike steel, followed by a faint whistling. When I glanced at the cooking stones, I saw the flames flare up. The girls were already at work, and I heard footsteps cross the floor as Gertrude joined them. She gave a couple of quiet orders, which the servants listened to, nodding, and then she turned to a couple of waiting farmhands.

  I watched in surprise as the men accepted their orders from their mistress, apparently with the utmost respect. Her words were accompanied by small curtsies and hand gestures. The men listened attentively, asked a couple of questions, and then walked toward the door while Gertrude glanced first at the misplaced ladder and then at me. I greeted her with a blink of my eyes. She stood the ladder back up and climbed up to the alcove.

  I got up from my bench, slung my sword belt over my shoulder and my shirt over my arm, and headed toward the door.

  The spring morning was chilly. Starlings sang along with a few other birds I couldn’t name. The sun was up and the countryside was bathed in sunlight, but it was a cold sun, which wouldn’t truly warm up until later in the day.

  I strolled down to the village paddock, greeted my gelding with a pat on the neck, and then washed myself in ice-cold water from the horse trough.

  Since I hadn’t thought to bring a towel out, I was shivering and hopping around, beating my arms with my hands in my attempts to get the water on my goose-bumped skin to dry, when I noticed the farmhands busy saddling up two horses.

  I said good morning and pulled my shirt over my head, strapped on my belt, and walked over to them.

  “Are you riding somewhere?”
/>
  They glared at me morosely. One farmhand was gangly, with his thinning hair pulled into a ponytail. The other was a youngster, who withdrew in fear as I approached.

  “We’re just following orders.”

  I smiled in thanks for the information.

  The gangly one handed the reins to the young one and told him to walk the horses around to warm them up and then put a blanket on them until the mistress was ready.

  “So is Gertrude a good mistress?” I asked.

  His response was a suspicious glance.

  “It’s easy to see that you respect her,” I explained and continued, “I saw you listening to your instructions in there.”

  He turned and walked away. A few paces later he turned back to me and said, “The mistress is skillful.”

  “And a good mistress, as I asked?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Arnulf?”

  He didn’t say anything. I saw the younger one behind him, watching me as he led the horses around the paddock.

  I walked over to the gangly fellow and put my hand on his arm confidingly. He let it sit there, but I felt his muscles tense under my fingers.

  “And Sigurd?” I asked. “Is he good, too?”

  “Sigurd?” He licked his lips. “He’s a brave man.”

  “Whom you’re going to have to watch be charged with two murders, right?”

  His eyes widened. Hadn’t the man heard us the day before? His tongue slid over his lips again, then he nodded.

  “So help me, I was thinking about telling my master that I believe Sigurd,” I lied. “Could Arnulf have killed Darwyn?” I asked, still holding his arm.

  “He was a good-for-nothing lazybones.” The man spit onto the grass. “He was obsessed with silver and making a big show of himself. Stacked up coins from loaning people money and things like that.”

  “So he wasn’t rich because of the land?”

  “Oh, sure.” Another glob of spit. “But he was no farmer.”

  I peered at him in confusion. Then I understood.

  “You mean Gertrude runs the farm.”

  “And he didn’t appreciate her,” the guy said, moistening his lips again. He definitely wasn’t used to talking about his superiors and certainly not with unknown thanes.

  I inhaled a deep breath. Things were starting to make sense now.

  “Who did he appreciate then?”

  “Him?” This time the spit landed between us. “No one. The only thing that mattered to him was silver.”

  I leaned forward confidingly again and asked, “And then who appreciated him?”

  “Huh,” he scoffed.

  “His neighbors?”

  He shook his head and then said quietly, “No one appreciates a stuck-up cheapskate. Some people depend on him, but no one appreciates him.”

  “Depend on him?” This was getting interesting now.

  But he clammed up. Speaking disparagingly of a dead, despised master was one thing. Spilling secrets about that master’s men who were still alive, and who would have been this man’s superiors, was another.

  I tried to get him to open up several different ways. In vain. Finally I tried another tack.

  “And Rowena?” I asked. “Now there’s a slave girl who seems to be on her mistress’s good side.”

  But this attempt also led nowhere.

  I had to give up when he gave me a quick nod and walked toward the stable. The farm was rich if there was still hay and feed left to feed the cattle; in other places, folks long ago had to let their animals out to forage in the winter-gray fields.

  My stomach rumbled, so I called to the young guy, who had blanketed the two horses by now, to feed my gelding and Sigurd’s horse, then I went back to the hall where I found Sigurd, Rowena, and Gertrude sitting around a pot of porridge.

  When I greeted them and took out my spoon, Gertrude looked at me defiantly and announced, “Rowena and I are riding to Thetford with you to bring Arnulf’s body home.”

  I had predicted that, and it suited me just fine.

  Sometimes it’s easiest to control the stallion if you let the mare run alongside him.

  19

  On the way to Thetford I mulled over how to sneak Sigurd into town without Turstan finding out he’d disobeyed his order not to leave.

  The boy rode along seemingly carefree at the side of his chosen one. There clearly was nothing in the world that mattered more to him than Rowena, and truth be told, she seemed to feel the same way about him.

  Gertrude rode along in silence on a calm mare, which did not appear to be much younger than she was. Every once in a while she would glance at the two young lovers and the hint of a smile would cross her lips before her attention returned to riding.

  It was just the four of us. Before we left the farm, the men were instructed to get to work and the widow told me that two armed men should be enough to secure her ride.

  And it was true, Sigurd carried a spear. Not vigilantly in his hand so that it could be lowered at the least sign of danger, but in a leather strap tied to his back. That freed up both of his hands, one for the reins and one to reach out to the wench by his side at regular intervals. The placement of his spear would cause him to lose valuable seconds before he was ready to fight if an attacker should happen to descend on us.

  I wore my sword under my left thigh with its hilt jutting out, so for me it was just a question of allowing my right hand to drop and grab the hilt, and I would be ready to fight.

  I let the young lovers lead the way, followed by the widow. The gelding and I brought up the rear with a length of about three horses between Gertrude and myself. Should some scoundrel jump out at us and make for the widow or the two young people, who were blind to the rest of the world, I had room to get my horse up to speed, which would add force to my arm strength when I swung my sword.

  If you have several armed men protecting a group, some of them can ride in the front, but if you’re alone, it’s a mistake to ride in the lead. Then you would have your back to the people you were protecting and—when screaming and wailing told you an attack was under way—you would risk being struck down by a spear in the back before you could even turn your horse around.

  I also left some distance between them and myself to make any highwaymen who might be lying in wait think that I was not a part of their group. Armed soldiers sometimes avoid coming to the assistance of unknown travelers, so my involvement in their protection wouldn’t seem a given to the highwaymen.

  There was hardly any way that some scoundrel would try to attack me. The crooks that live off robbing travelers are careful not to tussle with armed soldiers. They go after the easy victims and avoid anyone who even smells of being able to put up a fight.

  Of course I wasn’t blind to the possibility that not one but a band of robbers might be waiting for us, so I rode with my eyes and ears open, ready to strike first at the least sign of danger. I might not be the most lethal swordsman in the world, but I have never backed down from combating a pack of dishonest thugs. Experience has taught me they’re always cowards, ready to retreat at the least sign that they’re facing a skilled swordsman with a backbone.

  Yesterday’s rain had blown away. Instead our cheeks were warmed by the sun, which hung in the east in the cloudless spring sky. The air warbled with lark song and the hoarse cries of lapwings. If I’d had my druthers, I would have ridden with an inviting wench like Brigit at my side, scanning for a cozy spot beneath a Scotch broom or a hollow in the heather, a place that invited lovemaking hidden from prying eyes.

  We met other travelers, who all stepped aside for us since we were on horseback. Only once did we have to move off to the shoulder to let four soldiers go by at a full gallop. They didn’t even look at us as their horses kicked up a swirl of dust from the path, which we had cleared for them. They thundered onward, doing the business of some nobleman or other.

  We rested in a juniper grove, letting the horses graze while we enjoyed cold meat and bread, whic
h we washed down with refreshing ale from wooden casks. After our short break, we were back in our saddles again, and the afternoon wasn’t quite half-over when we spotted the fortification that guarded the Icknield Way entrance into Thetford. Now it was time to decide how I was going to smuggle Sigurd into town.

  I contemplated simply calling him over and telling him to turn his face away from the guards without making it obvious that he was trying to hide his identity. Or perhaps I should ride in first and try to distract the guards somehow. But before I could make up my mind, the young couple put their heels into their horses’ flanks and were galloping straight for the town gate.

  Sigurd told me later that they had made a wager about who could reach the gate first, but when I saw him and Rowena take off, I thought something had spooked their horses. I swore aloud, fully expecting to see them thrown off only to be helped up by the guards, who would first brush the dust off their bruised bodies and then ask them their names and what their business in town was—a question I feared the boy would answer honestly.

  But then everything unfolded quite differently.

  The guards, who noticed the crazed race, stepped in front of the gate to urge the riders on, and then stepped aside to make way for them as they stormed, side by side, through the open gateway. The guards clapped enthusiastically after them.

  The leader of the guard, a one-eyed man with a barrel chest, confided in me with a grin that unlike his buddies, he was betting on the wench and thus won himself a tankard of ale from each of the other guards.

  I gave him my name and explained that I had brought the widow of the farmer who had been murdered in town, along with her slave girl and spearman. I added that we would definitely be teasing the boy for letting a girl beat him. The guards all laughed at that.

  Once we’d brought the horses to the paddock, I led my companions to the inn, where I managed to convince the scrawny Willibrord to let the two women share a room so small that it hardly even deserved to be called a cupboard. I negotiated a price that seemed reasonable given how many people were crowded into town at the moment.