The Merchant's Partner by Michael Jecks Page A

all I know.”
    For a minute the Bourc held the man’s gaze while he considered. It was quite possible that the merchant had chosen to pay men to attack him. He had made sure of the Gascon’s route by telling him which way to go. Nodding to himself, he whipped the knife down, swiftly slicing the tunic to the hem. Then he moved the blade down and cut the thongs hobbling his ankles.
    â€œVery well. You can go now.”
    â€œBut…”
    â€œWhat?” He mounted his horse and stared down.
    â€œMy hands! And where is my horse?” the man said, struggling to his feet and dejectedly looking down at his bare chest.
    â€œBe grateful you have hands left. As for your horse—you lost it. You know your own way home, I believe. I should begin walking.”
    He could still hear the man’s hoarse shouting when he had left him far behind, but he soon put all thoughts of the robber out of his mind. His only concern was how to repay the merchant. Nothing else mattered.

-7-
    O ld Oatway stood and stared after the bailiff and knight as they left his holding, watching carefully as if doubting that they were truly leaving. Once out of sight of him and the house, Baldwin grimaced, glancing upward at the sky.
    â€œIt’s going to freeze tonight,” he muttered, and Simon nodded glumly, making the knight smile. Simon was not happy. Although he considered himself educated, and knew that rumors could easily accumulate around people in villages like Wefford with no reason, he felt nervous to have heard that the old woman was thought to be a witch. He shook himself. She was probably just a maligned old woman, that was all, surely. Glancing up, he saw the clouds were the color of old pewter, angry and heavy.
    â€œWell, Simon? Shall we go and question this Jennie Miller? Or should we go and take a look at Kyteler’s house?”
    â€œTanner? What do you think?”
    Ambling up on his horse, Tanner looked down the lane toward Agatha Kyteler’s house. “We have to see her place. We still don’t know where she was killed. Maybe we’ll find something there.”
    It was a good quarter of a mile to the little assart where the old woman had lived, and the difference between her cottage deep in the woods and the Oatway property closer to the road was startling. Here the thatch was fresh, not more than one summer old; the lime wash brilliant and white. Even the log store appeared to have been carefully maintained, the logs stacked neatly to the left of the house under an extension of the thatch.
    In front were two wattle pens in which goats and chickens roamed, and there was barking and whining at the sound of their arrival. Simon and Baldwin sat on their horses while Tanner alighted and strolled to the door, banging hard on the planks with his fist. There was no reply, so after looking at Baldwin, who gave a curt nod, he lifted the wooden latch and shoved the door open.
    Immediately a thin black and brown lurcher burst out, barking excitedly and capering around the horses, jumping up every now and again in an attempt to reach the riders. Laughing, Baldwin threw a quick glance at Simon. “The poor devil must have been in there since yesterday to be this happy to see a stranger!”
    â€œYes,” said the bailiff, trying to keep his horse steady. The dog unnerved her, and she was trying to keep him in sight, reversing and turning skittishly as the black and brown streak tore round below. “Keep still, damn you!”
    He was so involved he did not notice the constable come back to the door and motion to them. Grinning at his friend’s discomfort, Baldwin dropped from his mount and lashed the reins to a sapling, then crouched and stroked the dog before rising, still smiling, to enter. But the smile left his face when he saw the constable’s expression.
    â€œThis’s where she died,” he said curtly as he stood aside to let the knight in.
    That was clear as soon