The Merchant's Partner (26 page)

T
hey clattered up to the entrance of the house in the early afternoon, halting and dismounting before the front door. Soon hostlers appeared and took their horses while Baldwin tied the dog to a hook by the door. Then they entered. In the hall they found the lady of the house, sitting alone in front of her fire and looking up at them with fear in her eyes.

“Yes?” she said, her voice quavering.

Baldwin stepped forward, but Simon interrupted him quickly and, pushing in front, bowed quickly to the lady. “Madam, we need to speak to your son. Is he here?”

She shot a glance at Baldwin and Edgar, her eyes wide and fearful, before they rested on the bailiff once more. “You want to speak to Stephen again? But why? He told you all he knew the last time you were here, what more do you want of him?”

“I'm sorry, madam, but we need to ask him some questions. Is he here?”

“No…No, he's in Crediton. He left some time ago. He should be back tomorrow, though, so if you want to come back then…”

“No, I think we'll wait.”

“But why?”

Simon looked at her sympathetically. He was beginning to feel that all he could do today was try to offer support to those he was bound to upset. Trying to smile, he said as soothingly as he could, “We have to ask him about the death of Agatha Kyteler and Alan Trevellyn. We think that…”

He paused at the sight of her pale, terrified face in which the eyes appeared to have grown to the size of plums, huge and startling against the pallor of her skin. “Are you all right? Can we get you anything?”

Waving a hand in irritable dismissal of the offer, she held his gaze, and to his sudden distress, he saw a large tear roll down her dried and wrinkled cheek. It was as if he had upset his own mother, and he felt her pain like a band constricting his chest. Yet there was nothing he could do to make it easier for her. If her son was, as he believed, responsible for the two murders, she would live to see her only son die, and in a cruel and degrading manner.

He averted his gaze and settled to wait, but he had only just made himself comfortable in a small chair, while Baldwin and Edgar stood lounging against the screens, when Walter de la Forte came in, closely followed by the thin and perpetually anxious manservant.

It was apparent that he had not seen the knight and his man to his left as he entered, because he immediately strode to the bailiff and stood before him bristling with rage.

“What is this? I understand you're here to question my son again? What gives you the right to invade my house? You may be an officer, but you're not an officer
here
!”

“I am an official. I can…”

“Not in my house, you can't. I've a good mind to teach you not to molest a man in his own home. I could kill you now, and all my servants would swear that you attacked me and…”

At the sound of Baldwin clearing his throat from behind, he underwent a sudden transformation. His anger disappeared to be replaced by a kind of cunning sharpness before he risked a quick glance over his shoulder and found Baldwin and Edgar to be close behind him. He slowly turned back to Simon, who did not move or respond, but merely sat and stared up at him with an expression of faint disbelief. When it became apparent that the man was still wondering what he could say, Simon softly spoke. “You just threatened an officer in the presence of two other men of high honor. You will sit and be silent. We shall deal with you later.”

At first it looked like he was going to attempt an attack on Simon. His eyes bulged with his emotion, and his hands clenched, but then the fire died. His shoulders dropping, he looked as though he recognized defeat. Turning away, he stumbled to a bench and sat, his face in his hands.

Looking up at Baldwin, Simon saw that his eyes were on the fire. However, Edgar was aware that the man could be a problem, and when the bailiff gave a quick nod, the servant walked round to take up a position behind the merchant.

On Simon's cloak there was a twig caught among the threads. Reaching down, he lifted the heavy cloth and studied it. Pulling at the stick, he murmured softly, “It must have been hard, having to be suspicious of your own son. I don't suppose you really wanted your partner killed so that your son could take over his po
sition. It sets a rather unpleasant precedent to have partnerships dissolved by death. I must admit, though, I don't understand why he wanted to kill old Agatha Kyteler.” He plucked the twig free and gazed at it ruminatively for a moment before tossing it into the fire.

The older man stared at him for what seemed a long time, then he turned to gaze at the fire, as if debating with himself whether to tell his story or not. After a minute or two, looking up, he said to his wife, “You had better leave us.” She stared at him, and appeared to be about to say something, but then thought the better of it, rose, and swept out.

It was some more minutes before Walter de la Forte began to talk. “It was so long ago, we never thought it could hurt us. You don't worry like that when you're young, do you? You think you're immune to any problems caused by your actions. You don't realize that they can return to haunt you in your later life. In our case, we thought the past was far behind us, but it was lying dormant, waiting until we should be so arrogant as to think ourselves safe. Then it pounced.”

The room was silent apart from the crackling of the logs on the fire, but even they looked subdued, as if the flames too were listening.

“When Alan and I were much younger, when we were beginning our business, we set up as traders from the money we made during the evacuation from Acre. There were no English knights to take over our ship, Alan and I did it ourselves. Our captain had died in the city. He was hit by shrapnel from a catapult's stone. We took charge of the ship. It was so easy!

“There were people thronging the docks, trying to escape, looking like ants swarming over all the land, streaming on to any old cog or carrack that would carry
them. We were careful, we took on board only those who had money or gold. With the wealth in the city we could afford to be choosy. We had no need of furs, so if that was all the people had, they stayed. We took men and women and children. The children were best. They took little space and the mothers were often glad to see them sent away safely.

“There was one couple, a mother with her boy, who tried to persuade us to take them. She was a little older than us, a strong girl, but what a beauty! The boy was only a baby. Well, I was happy enough to take her for the jewels she carried, but Alan took a fancy to her. He was adamant. He wanted
her,
and that was to be her price for freedom. He always was a randy fool. I think it was because he had never managed to father a child. If it had been me, I would have taken her on board and then raped her, but he always was a fool about that sort of thing. He told her what the price of her passage would be and she refused. And with obvious loathing. So! He refused to take her or her child, no matter what she said. That was that!” He glanced up bleakly.

Sighing, he continued, now holding the bailiff's eyes as he spoke. “Later, another woman came, one who was not the same in looks or in position. She had a young child, and she had money. We let her aboard. How were we to know that she had the son of the first? And we could not tell that the first was the woman of a powerful man in Gascony, the Captal de Beaumont, who had been in Acre to help defend the city.

“The boy was his son—his bastard, apparently. The woman was his nurse: Agatha Kyteler, curse her! When we let her off the ship at Cyprus, she managed to make her own way back to Gascony and delivered the boy to his father. The mother must have died. To
our shame!” His head dropped into his hands, and although he did not weep, his emotion was all too clear.

Sighing, Baldwin tried to keep the contempt and disgust from his face as he watched the man. That any Christian man could have condemned a woman to the mercy of the Egyptians was horrific enough, but for so paltry a reason? It would have been kinder to have simply killed her. He sighed as the man began talking again.

“And there the affair ended, as far as we were concerned. Alan and I began our new lives. We had made plenty of money in the escape from Acre, and we used it wisely. We bought new ships—heavy cogs for bringing wine over the channel—and spent years trading peacefully between Gascony and England. But then, of course, the troubles began to get worse in France, and our ships started to get attacked. We lost one ship sunk by pirates and another captured, with all the men aboard murdered. That only left us the one, and we needed finance to keep it going, which is why we had to go to the Genoese. Doing that we managed to survive until about ten years ago.”

His face was almost wondering now, as if in amazement at how far he and his partner had fallen after the high point of their lives. “It was that bitch Kyteler, the old hag!” he declared, his head shaking slowly from side to side.

“I had only just built my house when she came to town. I don't know how she got here or how she found out where we were, but she did. She came here, to my house and introduced herself. Then she recalled the trip from Acre and told me whose son the boy was. I was horrified! I thought that at any time we should expect to have the Captal's men storming the house, but
that was nonsense. When I told Alan, he said we should kill her, but I was against the idea. I thought we had enough dead on our hands already, so I said I would have no part in her murder.

“He went and tried to threaten her. He wanted her to leave the area, but I think she had decided to stay as a constant reminder of our action at Acre. A living token of our guilt. She threatened to tell the Captal if anything happened to her. That was why Alan built his house up and had the castellations added. He was scared of being attacked by the Captal's men.”

“So all she did was stay nearby? She only lived here, and that made Trevellyn go in fear of his life?”

“Yes! The Captal de Beaumont is a powerful man. If he wanted to attack us, we could hardly protect ourselves. Alan said we ought to have had her killed off years ago, it would have been easier, at least we'd have known where we stood. But it was too late after a while.

“Stephen got to hear about it somehow. He felt that she was a danger to us all. He wanted her gone, but what could we do? And then, when she was out of the way, he decided that our partnership was useless as well. He told me that Alan must be bought off. He said that Alan was a harmful partner, that he was destroying the business, that there would be nothing for Stephen to inherit if Alan remained. When I asked him what he meant, he told me to have Alan killed. At first all I could do was stare at him, and then I lashed out. That was where he got his bruise. It was after that I heard Alan had been killed.”

Just then they heard a horse approaching outside. The merchant looked up as if searching for sympathy, staring at Simon with a kind of desperate yearning, as if he was pleading for understanding.

He was surprised to hear the old woman's dog begin to snarl and then growl and bark savagely out by the front door. There was a sudden flutter in the screens, and then they heard the front door thrown open. Almost before Simon could comprehend what was happening, Baldwin had uttered a most uncharacteristic curse and hurled himself at the door, and Edgar had followed, leaving the bailiff and the merchant sitting in astonishment.

“Don't kill him, Bailiff. He's a good son,” said the man softly, and then Simon's senses recovered. Realizing what was happening, he lurched to his feet and ran at full pelt.

O
utside, the mother was standing and staring at the disappearing figure of her son, riding fast for the road. Baldwin stood fuming, waiting for Edgar to return with his horse. When he did, there was only his own and Baldwin's. Snatching the reins from him, Simon snarled, “Get inside! Keep the father there until we get back!” And, somewhat to his surprise, Edgar obeyed.

Whipping their mounts, they launched themselves down the road at a gallop. They had their target some hundreds of yards away and all they need do was catch him. They could see him riding over the snow-covered grass to the right of the lane, then turning north as he hit the road. Whipping their horses, they kept their speed, although every now and again the knight glanced down at the snow rushing past their horses' hooves, wondering what would happen if they were to fall at this sort of pace. And it was likely that they would. While the snow was soft enough, he knew that a layer of ice could lie beneath its white covering, as slippery as oil on a metal breast-plate, and if they were to hit such a patch, they would be hurt.

And it was not long before he was proved correct.
He felt his horse's hindquarters slip, and felt the great creature falter as if nervous, knowing that he was losing grip. It was only with care that he managed to stay in the saddle. When he heard the high whinny and gasp from his side, above the whistle of the wind in his ears, he knew that Simon had fallen, and turning and throwing an anxious glance behind, he saw the bailiff sitting in a drift and rubbing his head with a grimace of angry pain.

It was then that Baldwin felt the anger rising. Now this young fool had caused his friend to be hurt as well. With his jaw set and his eyes staring, he set spurs to his mount's flanks and raced on.

They had entered the cold shade of the woods now, and Baldwin felt that the dark trunks rising on either side and flashing past looked almost like disapproving spectators. He set his teeth at the thought. Why should they approve? This was a race to the death, after all. The boy would die, whether during his flight or later, and the knight must catch him or die in the attempt, now that there was only him left.

Then the trees seemed to pull back from the track as if in dismay, and Baldwin drew in his breath. They were coming into the village. The open space by the inn came toward them, then they had flashed past, leaving two surprised men trying to calm their horses at the entrance, startled by the speed of the two riders.

Leaving the village, Baldwin became aware that his mount was beginning to tire. He could feel the breathing becoming more labored, the steps starting to lose their rhythmic pattern, and the head was straining as it stared forward. Biting his lip, the knight frowned ahead. Could the boy escape? No, he mustn't. He must be caught and made to pay for the murders.

The horse ahead was a blur against the white of the road, the youth a darker smudge on its back. All Baldwin could see was the snow whipped up by the hooves and the wind, flying upward into a cloud like a trail of feathers in their wake. It was already becoming colder and the breath felt like it was freezing his lungs as he inhaled. It smoked as he breathed out, the cold damp mist being snatched away from his mouth by the wind as he rode. Every now and then he would catch a whiff of the dank breath of his horse as the gray exhalation was drawn past his nostrils, but he kept his eyes fixed now on the figure ahead: his prey.

He was aware of the light fading. The sun was gradually sinking behind the protective covering of clouds, and there was a pink and orange glow in the west, flecked with purple and blue, which he could glimpse on his left. But then they were suddenly out of the trees and into a clearing. Here the youth sensed he had an advantage, and Baldwin saw his arm rise and fall in a steady rhythm as he beat his horse's flank. “Fool!” the knight thought. “All you'll do is lose his concentration if you keep hitting him. Leave him be.”

But it worked, and the boy reentered the woods at the far end of the clearing with a greater advantage. It was obvious that the knight would not be able to catch him. The youth was smaller in body, his horse faster, while the knight's mount was larger and slower. The contest was too unequal. He was about to rein in, when he saw a larger splash of snow, and then, when it settled, the horse and rider seemed to have disappeared. Uttering a quick prayer, Baldwin slowed to a canter, then a trot, and went forward hopefully to investigate.

“Get up! Get
up
!” he heard as he approached, and then he saw the boy. Stephen was kneeling and strug
gling in desperation to make the horse rise, but the horse was lying dazedly, both forelimbs outstretched, and whinnying softly, clearly in great pain. When he was close, Baldwin saw that one leg was bent at an impossible angle from the forelock. It was broken.

“Shut up, Stephen,” he said as he dropped from his saddle, and the youth rose, to stand anxiously, eyes wandering from the knight to the woods. “Don't even think it,” Baldwin continued evenly. “If you try to run, I'll catch you. And if you were wondering about taking my horse, don't bother. He doesn't like other riders. He'd throw you within yards. Sit down over there, while I see to your horse.”

While the boy stumbled to the patch of ground Baldwin had indicated, the knight studied the horse. There was nothing he could do. The leg was broken, and it was easy to see why. Riding in among the trees, the horse had been unlucky enough to put his leg into a rabbit hole hidden by the snow. There was nothing else for it. Baldwin drew his dagger and cut the horse's throat with a single, quick slash that opened the artery. Leaping back, he could not avoid the fine spray and then thick gouts of blood that gushed. The knight was liberally spattered. It was soon over, and when the creature's shivering death throes were done, he cleaned his knife on the horse's flank before he stowed it away. Stephen de la Forte was still seated where he had been told, resting with his hands on the ground behind him, although now his panting had reduced. Baldwin kept an eye on him while he mounted, then cocked an eye back the way they had come. “I think it's time we started back, don't you?” he said affably.

The youth slowly rose to his feet and glanced at the dead horse. Without moving, he said musingly, “I sup
pose you know how wealthy my father is? He would pay well for my freedom. All you have to do is let me go now.”

“You have a long walk ahead of you, Stephen. Save your breath for that.”

 

It would have been foolish for the boy to try to escape. Similarly, he seemed to realize that it would be impossible to try to deny his guilt. He strode along amenably enough, hands clutching his cloak tightly around his body as they made their way back. Their mad race had taken less than a half-hour, but it took them nearly that long to get to the village with Stephen on foot, and Baldwin's better judgment might have persuaded him to stay and enjoy a drink, but he decided to continue. He wanted to see how Simon was after his fall.

It was almost another hour before they came to the track on the left that wound its way up to the house, and here for the first time the youth faltered.

“Do we have to go there? Can't you take me straight to the gaol? I don't want to see my parents like this.” There was a plaintive tone to his voice, the spoiled child who cannot have his own way.

Baldwin's sympathy was limited. “Get a move on. At least you can get a warm drink inside you at the house.”

The last thing on the boy's mind was an attempt to break away and make his escape, but he was reluctant to arrive at his home, and the knight cursed the youth's slowness under his breath. Now he was nearly there, he wished to complete their journey as quickly as he could.

At the door they waited, and when it was pulled wide, it was Edgar who stood there to welcome them.
Taking Stephen by the arm, he waited while his master dropped from his horse. When an hostler arrived and took the reins from him, they all passed inside.

“Simon! How are you?” Baldwin cried at the door, and crossed the floor to his friend, who sat swathed in cloak and blankets like a new-born child. The bailiff smiled, but his pleasure at seeing the knight could not hide the yellowish pallor of his features.

“I'm fine,” he admitted. “But I landed on my head, and it jarred me.” He stopped and stared. “My God, Baldwin! Are you all right? You're covered in blood, did he stab you?”

“I'm fine. I had to kill his horse: broken leg.”

“Thank God! I…” He stopped, his mouth open in apparent revelation, and Baldwin heard him mutter,

“Of course! That was why he was cold! Why didn't I realize before?”

Barging past the knight, Stephen stepped up to the fire and ignored the gaze of the others. His father was sitting with his mother on a bench by the hearth, his arm around her, and to Baldwin it looked as if they had both aged in his absence. She was sniffling and trying to hold back her weeping, while her husband sat stoically and expressionlessly, swallowing hard every few minutes as if trying to keep the tears at bay.

When the youth turned from the fire, Baldwin saw him glance at his parents for a moment. In that quick look, he saw only contempt and loathing, and he felt a cold chill at the sight of it. How long would it have been, he wondered, before this boy decided that his father was too weak or ineffectual to be his partner as well?

It was Walter de la Forte who broke the silence. “Are you going to tell us why?”

“Why, father? Why I killed them?
You
know the reasons why. And I did it then because I had the opportunity, I thought, of getting away with their deaths. After all, they both deserved their ends.”

He walked over to a small chair and sat, staring at his father with apparent surprise, as if he expected that he at least should understand. “She had been a threat for ages, and that was hardly right, especially now the business has been suffering. No, it was only right that she should die. She was a danger, and had been for many years.”

“But why Alan? He was our friend, your friend! Why kill
him
?”

“He was weak and a fool. He wanted us to keep on with the trading when it was clear we needed to change, to move into banking, beat the Genoese at their own game. That's where the money is going to be in the future. But he wouldn't see it. He couldn't. He was going to ruin our business, Father. I couldn't let him do that to my inheritance. I had to kill him.”

Simon interrupted. “You knew what you did was going to put the whole blame on to Greencliff, didn't you? Did you want him to die for what you had done?”

“Harold?” The youth's face showed momentary confusion, near anger as he frowned, but then he seemed to realize that the bailiff was genuinely unaware of the truth and gave him an comprehending smile. “Oh, no. You don't understand. I told Harold to go and escape, I knew he
could
be in danger otherwise. That was why I went to his house after the witch died, to make sure he had gone. I had to make sure he would be all right after I killed her. Then, when I had seen to Alan Trevellyn, I made sure he left for good. He was my friend; I was looking after him.”