by Jay Ruud
I knit my brows inquisitively at him, and Meg seemed slightly put out, but bellowed loudly “Claude!” at which a burly man with scraggly black hair and beard and a food-stained apron darted out of the kitchen holding a large meat-clever. “You are all right?” he asked Meg. “These men, they are causing problems?”
“No, no,” she answered him. “They just want to talk to you. Listen, I’ve got to go lie down. The captain is dead.” And with that she covered her face and rushed from the room, out the rear door of the tavern into, I assumed, private quarters in the back. At the same time, a side door to the outside opened, and another tavern wench entered, dressed similarly to Meg, but in a brown dress and gray tunic. She had dark brown hair under her white wimple, and carried a bowl full of butter that she had just been outside churning. She seemed somewhat spent from the effort. “Here, Claude, is butter for the ale for tonight and…hello, what’s this? Sorry gents, but we’re not open until after none.”
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Claude said, waving his meat cleaver around like a baton. “It’s almost none; Let them stay.” The girl shrugged and walked into the kitchen. At that point my stomach started growling as I thought about buttered ale, and realized that neither Merlin nor I had broken our fast all day, so much had been happening. I was craving some tavern food.
“Now what’s this all about?” Claude wanted to know, turning toward us with his meat cleaver. The dog tilted her head curiously and looked Claude in the eye. It was a kind of a standoff. Either that or the dog was hoping that the cleaver meant there was some unclaimed meat somewhere.
“Sir, what Meg says is true, I’m afraid. Captain Jacques has been murdered. We are fairly certain that he was murdered by the same person or persons responsible for the murders of Sir Tristram and La Belle Isolde.”
Claude scoffed. “Tristram was killed by Norsemen. You’re telling me that there are Norsemen wandering the streets killing our citizens, and nobody has seen them?”
“Tristram was stabbed from behind by one of Lord Kaherdin’s own guard, a murderer who planned his crime out well ahead of time, anointing his lance with poison to await his chance to kill the knight secretly. And Captain Jacques had evidence damaging to this person that he was about to pass along to us.”
“You? Why you? Who in the devil’s name are you, anyway?”
“Merlin and Gildas,” the old mage replied, “at your service. We were sent here from Logres at the command of King Arthur to investigate the death of one of his most valued knights.”
“Well, Merlas or whatever your name is, I don’t care who sent you here and I never cared much for your Tristram nor any of his Isoldes. But Captain Jacques, he was a man worthwhile. He was a man to be missed.”
“They cut his throat. Right on the street,” I put in.
“And the ones who killed him are safe and secure. They feel like they can kill anyone who might get in their way. And the next ones in their way are us,” Merlin added. I hadn’t expected him to say that. It hadn’t been on my mind at all, but when he said it I realized it was true. Why else would Dinadan be lying in the abbey infirmary if we weren’t targets of the same assassin who had murdered the captain?
“We are almost certainly their next targets,” Merlin said. “And the killer, or killers, seem to be working quickly. That means we will be fortunate to make it through the night.” At this I sat down at a table and let out some breath. I felt a cold sweat chilling my forehead and the back of my neck. Of course he was right. How I hadn’t seen it before I had no idea, but I certainly could see it now.
Merlin continued: “We have reason to believe, based on Captain Jacques’s own evidence, that the murderer or murderers are in Kaherdin’s court, living in the palace. And that palace is where they’ve given us rooms to stay while we are here. Our belongings are there. Including our swords. But if we go there to sleep tonight, we make ourselves targets.”
I put my head in my hands, elbows on the table, and added, “Last night we slept in the abbey, because we wanted to watch over our friend Sir Dinadan, wounded by these same killers. But they know now that we have slept there. So…if we go back there, we may be targets as well.”
“So what you’re saying to me is that you want to spend the night here in the inn?”
“You understand us perfectly, sir,” Merlin answered. “This is an inn, correct? You do have rooms to let?”
“Well…” Claude considered, laying his meat cleaver down on the table. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? We make most of our money from the meals. We have only a few rooms, and they tend to fill up pretty quickly, what with the sailors who move in and out of the city. It’s a busy port, you see. We don’t have a room we can let you have tonight.”
“We don’t really need a room of our own!” I asserted. “Maybe we could spend the night right here in the tavern? As long as we stay in the building until daylight, I think we can be safe tonight.”
“Well,” Claude rubbed his hand across his scraggly chin. “We might be able to do better than that. There is room in the attic, if you don’t mind the dark and the cramped quarters. We could set up two pallets and you could sleep there. We’re glad to do anything to keep you safe from those bastards. How’s that? Will it work?”
“Absolutely!” Merlin said, sounding relieved.
At that point, the bells of the cathedral could be heard, tolling none. An instant later, the door opened and a few local patrons walked in, looking for a late midday meal. Claude called into the kitchen after the young woman who had brought in the butter. “Nancy, customers!”
Nancy pulled a face on Claude, saying “Really? Thanks for helping out a poor blind girl,” and then shouted out the back door with more than a hint of irony in her voice, “Meg! They’re pouring in from every direction!”
But Claude stopped her. “Nah, leave Meg alone for a while. She’s had a bit of a shock. I’ll get the old lady out of the kitchen to help.”
“What, Helen? Oh Lord, spare me that kind of help,” Nancy responded, and then sauntered over to a table that had filled with four burly lads of middle age, cooing, “Now then, gents, what’s your fancy today, eh?”
“We’re square, then?” Claude asked us. “You’ll stay in the attic tonight? I’ve got to get back to the kitchen and start cooking…”
“Right,” Merlin said. “And we thank you so much for the shelter. We’ll pay for it, of course.”
Claude shook his head. “Wouldn’t be right to charge you like you was staying in one of the guest rooms. No, you go ahead and stay there—anything to thwart those bastards what killed the captain.”
At that Merlin sat down at the table where I was already seated, declaring “I dare say my young friend here is famished. We’d love a couple of your meat pies and some buttered ale while we’re here!” Claude winked and left for the kitchen, saying “I’ll send Helen out to wait on you,” over his shoulder as he walked away. I and my empty stomach said a prayer of thanks. The dog licked her chops.
***
The attic was indeed small, cramped, and uncomfortable. Claude and Nancy had done what they could to make it as homey as possible with fairly soft pallets, warm blankets and several long candles, although there was still a small draft coming from somewhere where one of the rafters sagged or the roof tiles were missing. I was glad that the candles were large enough to burn all night, for I could see tiny eyes shining out at me from the shadows in some of the dustier corners of the attic, and I hoped that the light of the candles would keep the vermin at bay until morning.
In that hope I had the assistance of the dog, who lay next to me on my pallet and pushed her back into my side in a full-body snuggle, but whose ears were alert all the time, belying her relaxed pose. And there was a low but continuous growl coming from her throat as she sensed the presence of the rats we shared the attic with. I was relieved to think that they were not likely to ta
ke a chance on showing themselves with our large carnivorous borzoi as a guard. I was becoming more and more attached to the dog every hour, and began to think that perhaps it would be good to give her a name.
But I didn’t have time to think about dog names right now. Merlin was sitting up, his arms folded, thinking about the case. It was now much clearer where the murderer, or murderers, must be lodged: in the palace itself.
“We know that the murderer is one of Kaherdin’s men, one of his closest advisors, don’t we?” I said, trying to spur Merlin on to talk about the case. “That narrows it down to Andred or Melias, doesn’t it? I mean, isn’t that what Captain Jacques’s story tells us?”
Merlin shrugged. “Perhaps. But why rule out advisors or retainers of Kaherdin who are not quite as close as Melias and Andred—Sir William of Caen, for instance. But I suppose it’s more likely that the captain had those two in mind in particular. They are the ones who seem to be Kaherdin’s constant companions. But what Jacques overheard was not a confession of guilt. It was only an indication that one of those two—and we do not know which one—knew something about the poison that was killing Tristram that most people were not privy to. It could mean he was the murderer, yes, but it could also mean that he knew who the murderer was and had spoken with him.”
“I guess you’re right,” I began.
“You guess I’m right? You dolt of a Cornishman, if I’m ever wrong I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, you can assume that I am the oracle of truth and wisdom.”
“But I was just going to say,” I continued as if I hadn’t been interrupted at all, “that either way, it’s likely one of those advisors is in on the murder plot. Obviously there are more people involved here than a single villain. Look who attacked us in the street! There were four or five of them at least, wouldn’t you say?”
“Six,” Merlin corrected, but went on to add, “But I doubt very much whether any of them were in on the murder of Tristram. They were probably not members of the city guard, or Captain Jacques would have recognized some of them. No, no, I am fairly certain that they were a small group of local thugs hired by the real assassin for the sole purpose of doing away with us if they possibly could, and throwing a scare into us at the very least, and so encourage us to give up the investigation and return to Logres.”
“Well, they did a pretty good job of throwing a scare into me, I can tell you that. But I have no intention of quitting. I want to find this killer and bring him to justice. And how do you know the captain would have recognized them? It was dark. At least one of them might have been a guardsman.” I didn’t indicate that what I was really thinking about was how the true danger I was in would make me look in the lady Rosemounde’s eyes: I would have gone on this quest for her, and the quest proved to be dangerous and therefore, dare I say it, heroic. How could she help but be impressed by me? I stroked the dog’s head as I daydreamed of Rosemounde, thinking about how soft the borzoi’s satiny fur felt, and how that softness might compare with the softness of Rosemounde’s alabaster cheek—which in fact I had never touched and could only imagine.
“Good lad,” Merlin responded. “The danger should make us even more determined. Anyone who would do these things to us must be brought to justice before he can practice his evil arts on others.”
“So,” I continued. “It’s certainly one of the city guard who went into the skirmish with the Norsemen with Tristram, because he stabbed him from behind. It must have been either Melias or Andred, or someone they were working with, like Sir William or that spooky Sir Neville. Could it have been masterminded by someone else? I mean, what about Kaherdin himself? Either one of those two would have done it on Kaherdin’s orders in a heartbeat, it seems to me.”
“As would Sir William, for that matter. He told us so himself,” Merlin reminded me. “As for Kaherdin as the mastermind, I have my doubts. Sir Dinadan knows him well, and thinks it highly unlikely.”
“What about Isolde—I mean the Breton one? She’s about crazy enough to have enticed one of Kaherdin’s men to kill her husband for her. Might something like that have been going on?”
“Anything could have been going on. So which of Kaherdin’s followers is she likely to have seduced?”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I think. Sir Andred is a pretty surly brute. He seems suspicious to me.”
“What, because he wouldn’t chat with you about your home town in Cornwall? Not being friendly doesn’t make him a murderer.”
“Well it doesn’t make him a saint, that’s for sure,” I countered. “And if it’s Melias, what would his motive be? He’s also probably too young to have been seduced by Isolde.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Merlin pointed out. “I mean, look at the young Brother Aaron and his infatuation with the faithful Brangwen. She’s a good deal older, but he admires her maturity and sophistication. Why not Melias and Isolde?”
“Well, maybe. But you know that’s just a wild guess. It’s probably more important that Andred is from Cornwall, right? So isn’t he the only one with a clear motive?”
“And that would be?”
“He was from Cornwall himself. He could easily have been sent here by King Mark to avenge the king on Tristram.”
“I thought you were looking to clear Mark’s name?” Merlin goaded me.
“Well…somebody killed Tristram and whoever it was had to have some motive. Maybe it’s like King Mark himself said—and the faithful Brangwen too, for that matter—that anyone who had been a member of his court in Cornwall would have developed a jealousy and hatred of Tristram, and could have brought that hatred here to let it fester until he killed him.”
“Perhaps,” Merlin conceded. “But all we know is that Andred is from Cornwall. We don’t know if he was ever a member of the court there.”
“Then maybe we should talk to Sir Andred!”
“Or Sir Dinadan,” Merlin suggested. “Remember, Sir Dinadan was at Mark’s court the entire time that Tristram stayed there. He’d have recognized Andred if the knight had been one of Mark’s retainers.”
“We’ll ask him tomorrow, then,” I decided.
“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “But we have to make some sort of decision tomorrow. Ideally, we need to name the murderer. If we don’t, and we don’t see him in custody, we remain in danger from a ruthless villain dedicated to killing anyone that might put him in danger of discovery. I don’t want him loose for another night, because I’m not sure we can be protected if we have to spend another night in Saint-Malo with the killer on the loose.”
“That reminds me,” I ventured. “We believe that Captain Jacques was killed because he was about to give us the information about what he overheard on the ship. If that’s true, how would the killers have found out that he had overheard? Meg said that he was hidden and they didn’t see him. So how would they know? And how would they know he hadn’t already told us about it?
Merlin looked at me with his mouth agape. “God’s thumbnails, Gildas, you’re absolutely right. But if it wasn’t for that information, why kill the captain at all?”
“Unless, of course, he only thought they hadn’t seen him,” I reasoned, thinking out loud, “but they actually knew that he had been eavesdropping.”
“But even if that were the case,” Merlin answered, “why, as you said, should they assume he hadn’t told us yet?”
“Could it be,” I ventured cautiously, “that Meg is not what she seems? That in fact she passed the story along to some member of the guard? One of those brigands could have come back to the Cock and Bull after the captain had chased them off, and cajoled or coerced the story out of her.”
Merlin wrinkled his nose and then shook his head. “No one is that good an actress. The girl was genuinely aggrieved, and genuinely shocked, when we gave her the news this morning. If some brigand had forced her to tell her story last night, then this morning she would have been expecting news of
the sort we brought, and instead she was blindsided by it completely. Besides, the killer must needs have been following Captain Jacques closely for some time to know all of his habits and to know that he might confide his secrets to a particular tavern wench at a particular inn. They’d have no reason to keep Captain Jacques in their sights until the past two days, since he began to help us. They would not know to question Meg. The answer must be somewhere else.”
“Well, it’s beyond me right now,” I yawned.
“I’ll give it some thought,” Merlin said, lowering his eyes and folding his arms. “The answer is probably staring us in the face. I’ll sleep on it. Things may be clearer in the morning.” And, effectively calling a halt to the discussion, he settled in for the night.
The dog rubbed her back against me all the way down to her tail, and let out a long contented yawn as she stretched and settled down to sleep. Merlin, rolling onto his side and away from me, advised, “Let’s get some sleep. You’ll need it for tomorrow. It’s going to be a long day.”
He was right about that, I was pretty sure. Glancing over into the shadows of the attic, I could still see the glowing red eyes of the rats, and I lit another candle from one that was beginning to burn down to the leavings. When I put my head down on the pallet and cuddled into the back of the dog, I began to drift off almost immediately. But before I fell asleep completely, I remembered something that I felt I needed to point out to Merlin. “Merlin,” I called to him. My only answer was an inarticulate grunt. “I just remembered. When the guard was drilling in the town square, remember Sir Andred’s shield? His coat of arms was a horned bull. And what does your prophesy say? Beware the wolf with horns, isn’t it? So who’s most likely to be that wolf? The horned bull, right? It’s Andred.”
Whether or not Merlin agreed with me I couldn’t tell. The only thing coming from his side of the room was a loud snore. In that, I joined him in a couple of minutes.
Chapter Eleven
Sir William Pays a Visit