Secret Murder: Who Shall Judge? by Ellen Kuhfeld Read Free Book Online
Authors: Ellen Kuhfeld
was because Matilda is a horse person rather than because of Thorolf. I don’t doubt most of them have wanted to take whip to the occasional rich man themselves.
“Then too, there was a lot of sympathy for Matilda. More than once, I heard people say something terrible would happen to her for this—that a man like Thorolf lost all his power if he let this sort of thing pass.”
“They were right, too,” Gervase said. “For Matilda, Thorolf’s death is probably the best thing that could have happened. She’d be my chief suspect, if she hadn’t had a hundred witnesses helping her get drunk at the time Thorolf was killed.”
A woman arrived with a pail. Tony filled it with bitter, and gave her the cheese she pointed at, put her coin in his pouch, and watched her disappear into the confusion of the fair. “She’s not out of the woods yet,” he mused. “Who knows what Thorolf’s men will do?”
A burly Northman came up, wearing a wool tunic and breeches. With him was a small southerner in doublet and hose. They paid for their ale and sausage, then the ill-assorted pair went to a table well away from the others and huddled over it, talking and eating. A family bought bread and bitter.
Tony’s wife, Maude, came up to the trio. “You can talk later, Tony. There are people headed our way.” She poured ale, grabbed a loaf of bread, and headed back into the crowd already there.
“It’s coming on noon. As Maude says, if you still have questions we’ll have to talk later.” Tony turned to his customers. There were half a dozen, clamoring for ale and bitter, bread and cheese and sausage, apples—his entire stock. Maude and Tony wove an intricate dance around the kegs, pouring ale without getting in each other’s way.
“I’d say it’s time for us to get to work, too,” Gervase said to Dirk. They parted. Dirk went to join two drovers as unshaven as himself, while Gervase sat at a table with a prosperous-appearing Northman. He nursed his ale and cheese in silence.
A discussion grew at Dirk’s table, became louder and more heated. “Of course Matilda killed Thorolf—her, or a friend of hers! It was the only sensible thing to do!” Dirk’s voice rose drunkenly. The drovers disagreed, loudly and at length.
Gervase thought that was one of the finest openings Dirk had ever manufactured for him. He turned to his companion. “Those two have the right of it,” he said. “Matilda? Ha! The whole thing started when Thorolf was fool enough to threaten Ragnar Forkbeard. Anybody knows a man like Ragnar wouldn’t allow that without taking action.”
The Northman’s teeth flashed. “Let me tell you about Ragnar, friend.”
Chapter 4
Monday: Startling News
With the smell of smoke and breakfast, the crackle of fire, birdsong, sleepy voices in the distance, and daylight beginning to glow through the canvas roof of the booth, Ragnar came slowly to wakefulness. He lay in warmth between his bearskins, eyes closed, listening to the breathing and the snores of his crew.
But it was the first day of the fair—no time for sleep. He rose, scrabbled his feet into sandals, wriggled into a work tunic, and buckled on his belt with its sword, dagger, and pouch. Shuffling, not fully awake, he threaded his way to the door. Men were everywhere, sleeping on the benches and the floor, covered with blankets, furs, and cloaks. Some were beginning to stir.
Outside, all was misty. Some of the nearer booths and tents were pale areas of color, fading in the distance into grayness. Ragnar shivered from the chill, picked up his pace, and went rapidly to Gunnar’s fire behind the booths. Knute was already there, helping Gunnar, and studying the way he controlled the fire under the cauldron.
Gunnar knew his leader. As soon as Ragnar appeared, he ladled out a soapstone bowl of hot broth, and handed it to him. Silently Ragnar took it, sat on a log, and began to sip. Silently Gunnar tore off a huge piece of barley bread, which
“Then too, there was a lot of sympathy for Matilda. More than once, I heard people say something terrible would happen to her for this—that a man like Thorolf lost all his power if he let this sort of thing pass.”
“They were right, too,” Gervase said. “For Matilda, Thorolf’s death is probably the best thing that could have happened. She’d be my chief suspect, if she hadn’t had a hundred witnesses helping her get drunk at the time Thorolf was killed.”
A woman arrived with a pail. Tony filled it with bitter, and gave her the cheese she pointed at, put her coin in his pouch, and watched her disappear into the confusion of the fair. “She’s not out of the woods yet,” he mused. “Who knows what Thorolf’s men will do?”
A burly Northman came up, wearing a wool tunic and breeches. With him was a small southerner in doublet and hose. They paid for their ale and sausage, then the ill-assorted pair went to a table well away from the others and huddled over it, talking and eating. A family bought bread and bitter.
Tony’s wife, Maude, came up to the trio. “You can talk later, Tony. There are people headed our way.” She poured ale, grabbed a loaf of bread, and headed back into the crowd already there.
“It’s coming on noon. As Maude says, if you still have questions we’ll have to talk later.” Tony turned to his customers. There were half a dozen, clamoring for ale and bitter, bread and cheese and sausage, apples—his entire stock. Maude and Tony wove an intricate dance around the kegs, pouring ale without getting in each other’s way.
“I’d say it’s time for us to get to work, too,” Gervase said to Dirk. They parted. Dirk went to join two drovers as unshaven as himself, while Gervase sat at a table with a prosperous-appearing Northman. He nursed his ale and cheese in silence.
A discussion grew at Dirk’s table, became louder and more heated. “Of course Matilda killed Thorolf—her, or a friend of hers! It was the only sensible thing to do!” Dirk’s voice rose drunkenly. The drovers disagreed, loudly and at length.
Gervase thought that was one of the finest openings Dirk had ever manufactured for him. He turned to his companion. “Those two have the right of it,” he said. “Matilda? Ha! The whole thing started when Thorolf was fool enough to threaten Ragnar Forkbeard. Anybody knows a man like Ragnar wouldn’t allow that without taking action.”
The Northman’s teeth flashed. “Let me tell you about Ragnar, friend.”
Chapter 4
Monday: Startling News
With the smell of smoke and breakfast, the crackle of fire, birdsong, sleepy voices in the distance, and daylight beginning to glow through the canvas roof of the booth, Ragnar came slowly to wakefulness. He lay in warmth between his bearskins, eyes closed, listening to the breathing and the snores of his crew.
But it was the first day of the fair—no time for sleep. He rose, scrabbled his feet into sandals, wriggled into a work tunic, and buckled on his belt with its sword, dagger, and pouch. Shuffling, not fully awake, he threaded his way to the door. Men were everywhere, sleeping on the benches and the floor, covered with blankets, furs, and cloaks. Some were beginning to stir.
Outside, all was misty. Some of the nearer booths and tents were pale areas of color, fading in the distance into grayness. Ragnar shivered from the chill, picked up his pace, and went rapidly to Gunnar’s fire behind the booths. Knute was already there, helping Gunnar, and studying the way he controlled the fire under the cauldron.
Gunnar knew his leader. As soon as Ragnar appeared, he ladled out a soapstone bowl of hot broth, and handed it to him. Silently Ragnar took it, sat on a log, and began to sip. Silently Gunnar tore off a huge piece of barley bread, which