Secret Murder: Who Shall Judge? by Ellen Kuhfeld Read Free Book Online Page B

Finally he combed his hair and plaited his beard neatly.
    He was touching up the display tables as the fair began coming to life. There was a hubbub down the way, a number of merchants gathered together, then one of his men, Atli’s brother Ari, broke from the group and came running back to the booth.
    “A rider just got here! He says Thorolf is dead, on the road to Northlanding!”
    Ragnar carefully adjusted the position of an inlaid dagger before he looked up. “It would seem this fair has not been one of Thorolf’s luckier ventures.
    “Ari, you have sharp ears. Your brother Atli has good eyes. Take horses, and the two of you see what is happening. I want to know what the bailiff is doing, I want to know what Thorolf’s men are doing. If you find something I should hear about, one of you should come back—but leave the other behind, to keep watch. Now off with you!”
    He turned. “Olaf! Important news!” he called, and motioned. Olaf left his men to set out the furs, and came over. A southerner rode up to them—Ragnar recognized him as a wine merchant—and dismounted. “Thorolf is dead!” the merchant told them.
    Olaf’s eyes widened. “I’ve just been told,” Ragnar said. “Are you the rider that brought the news? What happened?”
    “I stayed the night in Northlanding, and started for the fair at dawn. Right off I met a runner, who said Thorolf was dead and he was going for the bailiff. Thorolf’s body was just the Northlanding side of the abbey road. Benedict was there, watching over Thorolf’s corpse. It looked to be an arrow that did Thorolf in.”
    “The trolls take Thorolf!” Olaf exclaimed. “We had to face him down yesterday. Now that somebody’s put an arrow in him, everybody will remember that and come asking us questions.”
    “That’s why I’m warning you,” the man said. “We merchants have to stick together. Thorolf was leeching off us for too long as it was—I’d hate to see him take one of us with him into death.”
    The southerner mounted, wheeled his horse. “I have to get back to my wares before my helpers drink all the stock.” And he rode off toward the wine-merchants quarter.
    Ragnar watched him thoughtfully. “He seems to think one of us did it. Let’s hope not too many feel that way.”
    Olaf shrugged. “It’s not worth worrying about. We’ve more than enough men to handle Otkel and the others if they make a fuss. And Thorolf was outlawed – who cares who kills him? It’ll be a bother, but we’re only here for a week.”
    “The baron cares. Why do you think that Southerner was talking about Thorolf taking companions onto his pyre?” Ragnar saw Olaf still didn’t understand.
    “You’ve mostly traded to the east, where customs are more reasonable. The laws are different here. Except for self-defense, you’ve got to be some kind of lawman or soldier before you’re allowed to kill people. Do it yourself, and they’ll hang you. It’s called justice.”
    Olaf was outraged. “That’s terrible! Thorolf killed Snorri Crow, right?”
    “I was there when it happened.”
    “The judges at the Althing pronounced full outlawry on him for the killing?”
    “ Many of us were there when that happened.”
    “And if we caught him in Surtsheim district, we could legally kill him?”
    “If I caught him there, I’d have done it myself. But he left too rapidly.”
    “Now I come a few days downriver, and if I kill Thorolf some lousy English king who’s never heard of me, or Thorolf, or Snorri for that matter, is going to have his sheriff or bailiff or somebody hang me for it?”
    “I think this king is from the French branch of the ruling family, but you seem to have a fair grasp on the matter.”
    Olaf subsided into mutters and grumbles. “Damn if I’d want to have a king like that around. If the people who have to live with Thorolf decide the world would be better without him, who needs some stranger second-guessing us? Does he think he has a monopoly on