asked for a mackerel, Elias set it to cook beside his fire. He recognized the Venetian from the tavern the night before, though he didn’t know Antonio’s name. Antonio’s face reminded him of the previous night, and Elias took a long swallow from his pot. He needed to. Seeing Jordan Lybbe again had been a shock, and then there was the horror in the alley. He wasn’t used to such sights. It had been all he could do to pour his drink when he had got back to the tavern afterward, and not tip the whole lot onto the floor, his hand was shaking so much.
Of course he knew he would have to pay the amercement for not clearing up the rubbish heap, but he couldn’t go back to it. Not now.
Two grimy children turned up, fresh from playing out in the meadows, demanding the price of all of the cooked meats on display, and trying to haggle. Elias was known among the town’s youngsters for being generous with his food. He took their money, but gave them a honey-coated roast starling each as well as the The Abbot’s Gibbet
79
thrushes they had ordered. Then the fish was ready, and he served it to the patient Venetian. Taking the fish, Antonio paid, then stood by the trestle and broke up the steaming, yellow flesh. When he caught sight of Elias’ gaze, he motioned to his meal.
“It is all right to eat here, yes?”
“Oh yes, master,” said Elias, and was about to ask where he had come from, for he couldn’t recognize the accent, when Antonio waved to catch his son’s attention. Pietro strolled over, Luke behind him, and surveyed Elias’ offerings, tossing a coin negligently. He pointed at a cooked leg of lamb, and when Elias had cut off a large slice, the young man flicked the coin down, then stood talking with his father, both conversing in a language Elias couldn’t recognize. The crowd was growing now. Elias had to sit again, uncomfortably aware of the itching in his hands that heralded another fit of the shaking. The acid in his stomach was bubbling furiously like water boiling over a fire, and he took a good swallow of ale to calm it. Sitting under a hot sun, next to his brazier and fire, he felt as if he himself was cooking, and he longed for the hour when he could close his stall and fall on his blanket behind his trestle. During the three days of St. Rumon’s Fair, he had rented out his shop and rooms, so his stall would be his bed.
He belched and winced, saw the two men glance in his direction. At the expression on the younger man’s face he froze. It was a look of contempt so powerful that Elias could feel himself coloring. He made a deprecating gesture, but before he could speak, they had both turned and left.
As they made off, Elias found another figure darkening his stock. “Yes, sir? Oh . . .”
80
Michael Jecks
Friar Hugo held out his bowl questioningly, and Elias dropped a couple of starlings into it. “Thank you, my son,” he said as he walked away in the same direction as the Venetians.
“Christ Jesus!” Elias muttered, then stood as another figure appeared. “Sir, can I help you? Oh, it’s you.” At least he’s changed out of the dead man’s clothes, he thought to himself.
Jordan Lybbe grunted, but Elias could see that his attention was elsewhere, and when he followed Lybbe’s gaze, he could see that it was on the friar and the others. Without speaking, Lybbe left the stall and walked after them.
Edgar appeared to lose his lethargy as soon as they entered the bustling temporary streets of the fairground. All through the questioning and post mortem, he had been idle, looking bored with events, but now, as soon as they came upon the first series of shops, he became alert, casting about him with the intent concentration of a hound seeking a trail.
His master gave him a long, hard look. Edgar must be keen on his woman, and that augured badly for Baldwin’s own future. There was a worrying implication: if Edgar was to marry, would he still want to serve his master? There was a trend now
Of course he knew he would have to pay the amercement for not clearing up the rubbish heap, but he couldn’t go back to it. Not now.
Two grimy children turned up, fresh from playing out in the meadows, demanding the price of all of the cooked meats on display, and trying to haggle. Elias was known among the town’s youngsters for being generous with his food. He took their money, but gave them a honey-coated roast starling each as well as the The Abbot’s Gibbet
79
thrushes they had ordered. Then the fish was ready, and he served it to the patient Venetian. Taking the fish, Antonio paid, then stood by the trestle and broke up the steaming, yellow flesh. When he caught sight of Elias’ gaze, he motioned to his meal.
“It is all right to eat here, yes?”
“Oh yes, master,” said Elias, and was about to ask where he had come from, for he couldn’t recognize the accent, when Antonio waved to catch his son’s attention. Pietro strolled over, Luke behind him, and surveyed Elias’ offerings, tossing a coin negligently. He pointed at a cooked leg of lamb, and when Elias had cut off a large slice, the young man flicked the coin down, then stood talking with his father, both conversing in a language Elias couldn’t recognize. The crowd was growing now. Elias had to sit again, uncomfortably aware of the itching in his hands that heralded another fit of the shaking. The acid in his stomach was bubbling furiously like water boiling over a fire, and he took a good swallow of ale to calm it. Sitting under a hot sun, next to his brazier and fire, he felt as if he himself was cooking, and he longed for the hour when he could close his stall and fall on his blanket behind his trestle. During the three days of St. Rumon’s Fair, he had rented out his shop and rooms, so his stall would be his bed.
He belched and winced, saw the two men glance in his direction. At the expression on the younger man’s face he froze. It was a look of contempt so powerful that Elias could feel himself coloring. He made a deprecating gesture, but before he could speak, they had both turned and left.
As they made off, Elias found another figure darkening his stock. “Yes, sir? Oh . . .”
80
Michael Jecks
Friar Hugo held out his bowl questioningly, and Elias dropped a couple of starlings into it. “Thank you, my son,” he said as he walked away in the same direction as the Venetians.
“Christ Jesus!” Elias muttered, then stood as another figure appeared. “Sir, can I help you? Oh, it’s you.” At least he’s changed out of the dead man’s clothes, he thought to himself.
Jordan Lybbe grunted, but Elias could see that his attention was elsewhere, and when he followed Lybbe’s gaze, he could see that it was on the friar and the others. Without speaking, Lybbe left the stall and walked after them.
Edgar appeared to lose his lethargy as soon as they entered the bustling temporary streets of the fairground. All through the questioning and post mortem, he had been idle, looking bored with events, but now, as soon as they came upon the first series of shops, he became alert, casting about him with the intent concentration of a hound seeking a trail.
His master gave him a long, hard look. Edgar must be keen on his woman, and that augured badly for Baldwin’s own future. There was a worrying implication: if Edgar was to marry, would he still want to serve his master? There was a trend now
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