Margaret leaned forward. “Why would he have killed the girl? There was no need, surely?”

“Possibly – and possibly not. There is one simple explanation. He went into the room to steal the silver and either she was there already or she came in a little later. Either way, he knew that if she spoke of him being in Sir Hector’s room his life would be forfeit. He killed her to save his own skin, then hid the body so that he could make good his escape.”

Roger de Grosse was sitting nearby, and he frowned at this. “Surely, Sir Baldwin, if he was intending to make his escape, he would have planned a better means than his own feet?”

“A very good point. But it is possible that in the first case he intended taking the silver and hiding it, so he could return to it later when the fuss had died down.”

“How did he do it? From what you have said, he would have been seen leaving by the hall, and the shutters were closed. He couldn’t have jumped from a window.”

Baldwin glanced at Simon. “I have told them about our talks last night,” he said. “That, Roger, is still the point which interests me. Again, we don’t know how, but several explanations are possible.”

“Could Sarra have been an accomplice? She might have opened the shutters for him and closed them after he left.”

Baldwin smiled. “And afterward he wandered back in and killed her? No, all we know is that he must have taken the silver some time after Sir Hector rose from his bed, and before the captain returned from his meal.”

The bailiff nodded. “I look forward to hearing how he did it.”

The jail was a small building near the market, almost opposite the inn. Commonly it was used for victims of the Pie Powder courts, at which market traders were convicted for selling short measures or defective goods, but it also served for those committed for more serious offenses. Small, stone and square, it lurked malevolently near the toll-booth, a focus of fear for people of the town, for many of those who entered would only leave to make their way to the gallows.

It was only a few minutes’ walk from Peter’s house. Baldwin and Simon set off immediately after their breakfast. Roger had asked if he might join them, and Stapledon agreed that it could be useful for the rector to witness how investigations were conducted.

Even this early in the morning the street was busy. Hawkers strolled, yelling their offers to the world, horses clattered along the partly cobbled way, wagons thumped and rattled past, and Simon smiled to see the children running and jumping in and among the traffic. He saw the woman in gray, her child nearby, but she did not appear to recognize him. He did not blame her: it had been late when he helped her, and dark in the street. She stood quietly, a begging bowl in her hand, smiling pitifully at all who passed in a desperate attempt to win alms. Simon averted his gaze. There were so many, especially after the years of famine, who needed the charity of others to survive, yet the sight of beggars always made him feel uncomfortable.

All along the way Roger found his nostrils assailed by the fumes of the busy, growing town. Sharp woodsmoke gave a wholesome background, but more pervasive was the noisome stench rising from the open sewer in the street, to which the dung of horses, oxen, pigs and sheep all added their malodorous reek. As they approached the inn, the smells altered, subtly proclaiming the presence of the butcher.

They stopped to watch. The butcher’s was on the corner of two streets, right next to the inn, and behind it Roger could make out the cookshop. A little beyond was the lane which led behind the cookshop, past the stables, to the inn’s yard. Before the inn itself was the small pile of animal remains Baldwin had stood in the night before; now four stray dogs hovered over it, snatching what they could and snarling at each other.

In front of the butcher’s itself Roger saw the rotund little figure of Adam at his work, a large knife in his hand, and dressed in his heavy old apron. The rector paid little attention; he was staring at a hawker further up the street when there was a loud, piercing squeal that made the hair on the back of his neck tingle.

When Roger turned in horror, he saw that the butcher had stuck a pig. It hung upside down from a tripod by a rope around its hind legs, jerking and twitching as the blood bubbled and gushed from the vivid gash in its throat, dripping into a large pot underneath. As its struggles decreased, the butcher slit it from breast to pelvis, and the entrails, massive ropes of yellow brown, suddenly slithered free like so many snakes from a sack. An assistant was already tipping boiling water over the animal and readying his razor to remove all the bristles from the body, and Adam had his hands inside the carcass pulling out the heart and lungs as he watched.

The smell of rotting flesh pervaded the street. Although many townspeople complained regularly to Baldwin about the smells and the flies, there was little he could do. If folk wanted to eat, the butcher must ply his trade. It was a shame that feces voided from the bowels of animals were dumped until they could be carried to the midden, for it created an unwholesome aroma, but the guts must be cleaned so that sausages could be made. Little if anything was wasted from a pig’s carcass.

When the body had been carelessly shaved and carried away, a fresh hog was brought to its three-legged scaffold. Adam stropped his knife and waited while it was hauled aloft, squealing in rage and terror, its evil little eyes rolling wildly in fury. Seeing the three men watching, Adam smiled and waved, and Roger thought to himself how like a hog the butcher himself looked, with his little shining eyes and round features.

They walked on across the street. It was only a matter of yards from here to the jail, and Simon’s eyes were on the small, squat building, but when he shot a glance at Baldwin, the knight was staring at the inn almost opposite.

“What is it?” Simon asked.

“Oh, I was just thinking that being here, near the market, the inn must often have wagons parked outside it. Look, one is there now.”

“Yes.” The bailiff could see the old cart, the horse standing slack and tired, thin and ragged from underfeeding and maltreatment. “So what?”

“I had thought it would be too obvious for Cole to try to get the silver out through a window on the street, but look! If a stranger parked a carriage of some sort here, it would be noticed immediately, but a man could wait nearby, and take the things from the window, couldn’t he? If there was someone there now, he would be hidden from sight by the butcher’s wagon.”

“But if the silver weighed so much that three men were needed to carry it…”

“Oh yes, but he could have had more than one accomplice, or he might have passed it out in small parcels. That way his companion could have stood here for a few minutes, then gone to hide the silver and come back for the next instalment. Always hidden, always out of sight behind a wagon. It would be a perfect arrangement.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand.”

“What?” Baldwin looked at him with a faint grin. Simon was a long way from being himself, he thought, but he did seem to be mending. It was not only the way he had smiled at his wife over breakfast; he had a different look to him. Last night he was peevish and complaining, but now that he had something to occupy his mind, he had almost become the cautious and thoughtful man whom Baldwin remembered. Apart from anything else, raising objections to Baldwin’s ideas was a sure sign that the bailiff was improving.

“Let’s say you’re right and he had an accomplice out here…”

“He must have had an accomplice somewhere, whether here or out back, in the yard.”