Lost Innocents (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 3) (27 page)

Satisfied at having quelled so unruly a disruption, Edmund seated himself again, then shifted into his native tongue to speak to his employer. "Sir Faucon, your jury is in attendance. You may call for them to swear when you're ready."

Hiding his grin, Faucon called in English, "Men of Wike, you come this day to view your deceased neighbor, Jessimond the Leper's Daughter. Swear you all before God and these men that you will speak the truth if asked to give any information about her death, or about any appraisals or assessments regarding her property and estate."

The idea of anyone in Wike having property or an estate worth valuing teased another amused sound from the watching men. Nonetheless, each of them raised his voice and called, "I so swear!"

From the corner of his eye Faucon watched Ivo and his sons. The younger smiths raised their voices, but not so their sire. Instead, Ivo stared at Edmund's moving quill as if he were enchanted, or perhaps just found the scribing of words upon skin as magical as a player who ate fire.

"Give me a moment," Edmund warned his employer, unaware of Ivo's interest and yet speaking French. His quill scratched, then he nodded and lifted its tip from the parchment. When he looked up at his Crowner, he said, "Sir, before you call them to the corpse, I think we must address the matter of Englishry and the murdrum fine with them."

Faucon blinked. He'd forgotten to tell Edmund that he'd released any hope of collecting that fine. But with the monk's words, the pieces he held within him shifted one last time. Although the change was infinitesimal, he saw how he could wring everything he wanted from this inquest. But only if Edmund complied.

"You're right, we must address the child's birth and the possibility of collecting that fine," he agreed. "But to do so in the way that will best serve our king, I must beg your indulgence, for I will need to breach the usual form of the inquest."

The monk's brow creased at that. He eyed his employer for a quiet moment. "Will what you do win justice for the leper?" he asked softly.

Startled, Faucon eyed his usually rigid clerk, wondering what it was about Amelyn's story that had so touched the monk. "I believe it will."

"But you cannot break the law or all will be for naught," Edmund warned.

"If I tread amiss, warn me," Faucon replied.

The monk freed a long, slow breath. "So I shall. Proceed," he said and turned his gaze back to his parchment.

Faucon took a moment to formulate his words. "Men of Wike, in the matter of Englishry, four of your neighbors have spoken as the law requires," he called out, his voice raised so all could hear. "These four have sworn that the name of the man who fathered Jessimond was unknown at the time of her birth and remains unknown until this day. So too, have I learned from the mouth of Amelyn the Leper that she came with Jessimond after being taken by force in the dark of night by a man whose face she did not see, nor did she recognize him by any other means. Against that, the law requires I declare Jessimond the Leper's Daughter Norman born."

On the other side of the corpse, Odger blanched. The man's reaction told the tale. Wike's lady did not wish to keep her troublesome bailiff at all, and Odger knew that well indeed.

As the bailiff's shock gave way to a desperate need to save his position, he whirled to face those he ruled. "Neighbors!" he bellowed, "I will not let this knight press the murdrum fine on all of us, not when that sum will steal food from the mouths of our children!"

Instantly, everyone in the yard raised their voices, shouting that they would swear the child was English, born and bred. Faucon was about to demand that they quiet when he caught movement at the back of the crowd. It was Hew, supported by that younger version of himself. The two were making their way toward the front of the crowd. As Hew went, he leaned close to each man he passed and spoke. Those men then turned and did the same with the others around them. Within but a few breaths, quiet began to overtake the jurors. Where their menfolk went, the women of Wike followed. Outrage died into a tense silence, fraught with curiosity.

Startled, Odger scanned those he ruled. "Who among you told this knight that the name of Jessimond's sire is unknown? Who among you wishes to see every soul in Wike driven into starvation and penury by such a fine?!" His voice rose steadily until it seemed he raged.

Now at the front of the jurors, Hew turned to face his neighbors, using his grandson as a brace. "I am one of those four," he called out. "As you well know, I am an honest man. But how could I do other than speak the truth to our Crowner? Was I not there, just as you were, the day Amelyn took her punishment for fornication on yon porch?" He waved his twisted fingers in the direction of the manor house. "And on that day did we not all witness how she could not name the man who fathered her child?"

Then the rustic looked around him. "Where are the other three honest men of Wike who spoke these same words?" he demanded.

Yet standing behind Edmund with his father and his brother, Dob took a step forward. His younger brother stood with his head shyly bent. Ivo did the same, but the elder smith's hands were folded as if in prayer.

"Rauf and I did the same, as did my sire. Odger," Dob pleaded to the bailiff, "we didn't know what the knight intended when he asked about Jessimond. But I think even if we had, we could not have lied. How, when it's common knowledge that the name of Jessimond's sire has never been spoken? Aye, even Jessimond doesn't...didn't know the name of the man who sired her, or so Gawne has told us."

"Who can believe testimony given by the one who killed this girl!" Odger shot back, a new edge to his voice.

That gave Faucon the opening he needed. "The boy didn't kill the leper's daughter," he said, then called to the smith's middle lad. "Rauf, will you confirm what Gawne told me, that on the night Jessimond died, your younger brother never left your shared pallet?"

"I will," the boy replied. Although his voice was quiet, the yard was so still his words rang out like a bell.

As a murmur rolled over the watching folk Faucon moved on, his gaze connecting jurors standing closest to the corpse as he pointed to the bruises that marked the girl's neck. "Moreover, see here. The one who laid these marks upon her neck has the hands of a man not a boy."

He positioned his hands above the marks, not quite touching the girl's flesh, then slowly closed his fingers as if squeezing. That set a few of those closest to Jessimond looking at their own hands, then eying the marks on the dead girl's neck.

"Aye," Faucon encouraged them, "now you see what I do. A small lad like Gawne couldn't have done this." He scanned the crowd before him. "Instead, she was not only killed by a man full grown, but by the man who fathered her."

That sent an excited ripple across the watchers. They watched him eagerly, but Faucon didn't give them what they wanted. Instead, he shifted to look at Odger.

"So bailiff, if you wish to avoid the murdrum fine, call now to the men of Wike. Demand that the one who sired this girl step forward at this late date and claim his daughter. Demand that this man admit he took Amelyn against her will, setting fertile seed into the womb of a woman he believed to be barren. Make this man confess that on the day you laid an unfair and deadly punishment upon an innocent woman, he held his tongue like the coward he is to protect himself. Then, when this man has confessed, let his neighbors confirm him as Jessimond's killer."

Faucon again sent his gaze across his jurors. "Or perhaps none of you believe that one of your own might have done such a heinous thing to a woman who was a neighbor and a friend. In that case, which of you is willing to let the hangman take you so your bailiff might retain his position? For if no man speaks, I fear your lady will dismiss him, doing so because he overstepped your traditions when he forced Amelyn to whore. How can your lady do any less when she learns that it's because of her bailiff that she must open her purse?"

This time the sound that made its way across the yard was stronger and darker. Some jurors eyed each other, heads shaking in worry or, mayhap, disbelief. Others locked their gazes on Odger, brows lowering. But still they held their tongues.

Their wives and mothers weren't so subtle. The women whispered as they moved and shifted between each other. The sound of their voices rose and fell like gentle waves upon the ocean.

"What nonsense is this?" Odger demanded, his expression a disdainful mask. "Our lady has no cause to dismiss me, because there will be no murdrum fine for Wike. If you know the name of the man who both fathered and killed Jessimond, raise your voice, Crowner. Tell us who it is."

"So I shall, Odger of Wike, but only when the others tell me they're ready to move on."

"I have told you," Odger shot back in command. "Speak the name."

"This is an inquest, not a field of wheat. Here, you are but an equal to the others and one among many. Be patient and wait until they've had their say," Faucon said in calm reply.

That sent Odger around to face those under his command. "Raise your voices! Demand that this new Crowner reveal the murderer's name so we may confirm it, bury the leper's daughter, and get on with our day!"

But those men he had controlled until this moment now held their tongues. There was no sound in the yard save that continuing hiss of whispers from the women. Faucon waited another moment, then raised his voice to fill the fragrant air around the kitchen. "I have waited long enough for your reply," he said, then shifted to look at the smiths.

Like the others in the yard, Dob and Rauf stood with arms crossed and mouths tight, their gazes fixed on Odger. Not so Ivo. He still watched Edmund's parchment. His clasped hands were pressed to his heart now. That had sent his shirt sleeves back, sliding down to the middle of his forearms, revealing the ring of small bruises around his left wrist, the marks Jessimond had left as she tried to keep her sire from ending her life.

"Ivo the Smith, I name you murderer of Jessimond the Leper's Daughter," Faucon called out. "I also charge you with the rape of Amelyn of Wike thirteen years ago."

A sharp sound of astonishment rattled both the men and women in the yard. Ivo swayed, but he didn't lift his head. Instead, he opened his hands and buried his face into his palms.

Rauf stared at his father, his face white and his eyes wide. Dob's mouth moved. It took him two tries before he managed to expel his words.

"Da! Tell the knight he's wrong. Tell him. Tell me!" he shouted, anger overtaking shock.

Ivo's shoulders began to shake. His head remained bowed, his face yet hidden in his hands.

"Nay, Da!" Dob sobbed, then turned to look at his neighbors. "You all know my father! He's kind and gentle, almost too much so. He couldn't have hurt Jessimond."

As he pleaded, Faucon shifted to look at Hew. The rustic met his gaze, frowning and shaking his head. Faucon raised his brows in prodding encouragement. The old man's eyes widened in surprise. Then understanding dawned in the man's eyes.

"This I cannot believe," Hew called out an instant later. "I say our new Crowner is mistaken."

There was a swift rustling as every soul within the yard turned to watch the rustic.

"There is no mistake," the bailiff bellowed as he looked at Faucon. "Call for us to confirm the verdict, so we can put this sorry affair behind us."

"In a moment," Faucon replied with a careless shrug. "I'd like to hear why the rustic believes I'm wrong. Speak on, old man," he said.

Hew shifted to face the jury. "Hear me now, neighbors. I was with Amelyn and Sir Faucon at the well yesterday when she told her tale of rape. Aye, she said that the one who'd taken her held her face-down so she couldn't see him, and that he said not a word as he did the deed. But when our Crowner asked Amelyn who she thought had done this awful deed, it was Odger she named, not the smith," he called, shifting to point his twisted hand at the bailiff. "She said that the only man who could have done this to her was the same man who had tried and failed to take her two months before."

Gasps and cries rose from the watching women. One old woman sat hard upon the ground and began to rock, head bowed and arms tight across her mid-section. Another woman stared straight ahead, her gaze glazed as silent tears flowed unnoticed down her cheeks. More than a few threw arms around each other, as if they needed support to remain afoot.

Odger's face darkened. He took a step toward Hew, his fists closed in threat. "Slander me at your peril, old man. I did not take Amelyn, not on that day. Not ever."

A raging shout exploded from the old woman seated on the ground. She came to her knees. Her fists were pressed to her temples as she screamed, "Liar! Liar! I know you took Amelyn. You must have. Why not her, when you took me against my will?!"

"Are you mad?!" Odger shouted at her. "I never touched you, Bet."

Then he shifted to address the men he commanded. "I see what this is. You all know how Hew hates me. Now see how the useless ancient plots against me—" he jabbed his forefinger at Hew. "He has recruited Bet to lie for him as he seeks to dislodge me from my rightful place. Heed him on pain of your lives and that of your children. Without me to speak for us, our lady will soon forget that we exist. You heard Ivo. We need her coin to buy the iron for our tools. We need her to speak for us with the king's foresters so we can continue to gather wood and more from his forest." The wave of his hand indicated the faggots near the manor house. "Without me, Wike will die!"

Those he addressed stayed silent, frowning as they glanced from him to Hew to the kneeling woman.

"It wasn't just Bet and Amelyn that our bailiff took." It was the woman who cried the silent tears who spoke. Her face was white. She drew a ragged breath, then spewed, "He used me, too."

When the last word left her lips, her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled to lie senseless on the ground.

"They both lie! I did no such thing," Odger shouted again, but there was a new, panicked edge to his voice. As he spoke, he stepped backward only to collide with the planks supporting Jessimond, jostling her corpse.