The Keeper’s dark eyes were fixed on him, gazing intently with that little frown Wat had come to recognize as curiosity, and Wat did not enjoy having the man’s attention for the second time that day. But he had little choice.

“Come with me.” Leading the way to their table, Wat gave a curt jerk of his thumb over his shoulder. “This man has found something you should see.”

“What?” Baldwin said, turning his face to the newcomer. This was another of the mercenaries, but not one he had spoken to as yet. The man named Will was short and very thickset, with a neck like a bull. His round face was pocked and scarred, and he wore a bristle over his jaw to show he shaved but rarely, but he was surprisingly well-spoken. He appeared to have hurt his right arm, for he had it supported in a simple sling, but Baldwin noticed he was stiff in his body too, and wondered whether he had been stabbed or wounded in some other way.

“Sir, I’ve found a body in the stable. A woman’s body.”

Baldwin and Simon stared, then leapt to their feet and pounded to the stable.

Simon was aware only of a kind of desperate yearning for the man to be wrong. He had seen too many deaths over the last week. Two dead women, both stabbed, both for little or no apparent reason, was as much as he felt he could cope with. For there to be yet another was incomprehensible.

As he entered, he slipped on the hard-packed earth of the stable floor, and nearly fell. The hay was stored on a raised floor, with the horses beneath in their stalls. To reach it they had to ascend a ladder. Simon waited while Baldwin, looking more tired than he had ever seen him, slowly went up after Wat and Will, and then Simon followed.

As he reached the top, there was a scurrying and skittering through the hay. Wat curled his lip. “Rats. They get everywhere.”

The hay lay all about in an untidy mess, intermingled with the clothing and accoutrements of the mercenaries, for those who could find little space in the hall were accustomed to the comfort and warmth that the hay could offer.

“I was just getting my gear ready for cleaning,” Will said in a choked voice; looking at him, Simon could see that he was as shocked as the bailiff himself. He stepped forward and pointed.

At first, all Simon could see was the paraphernalia of warfare. A short sword, a bundle of bolts for a crossbow, a stout leather cap and a chainmail habergeon lay in a bundle on top of a heavy blanket. Nearby was a cup lying on its side. The ale which it had contained had dribbled onto the hay, the beery smell intermingling with the wholesome scent of the dried fodder.

The cause of the man’s shock was right there in front of them. The blanket, which looked as though it performed the function of bedding for him, had been lifted at one corner and thrown aside. Beneath it, a hole had been scraped in the hay, and some crimson cloth was visible.

“When I sat down, it felt lumpy and uncomfortable, so I dug around. Then I felt something, and wondered what it was,” he explained. “I pulled at it, lifted the hay, and found… that.”

Baldwin knelt and gently eased the hay from the crimson dress. It lifted easily to reveal the body of a young woman. Her eyes were dim as they stared upward through a layer of dust from the hay. A thick coating of the same dust lay upon her, but when he touched the cloth, the tiny particles of grass and seed did not move, for in places the material was quite damp.

“I must have slept right next to her all night,” the mercenary said, with a stricken wonder in his voice.

“More than one night,” Baldwin remarked callously. “This woman has been dead some days.”

Simon met the soldier’s horrified gaze for a moment, and then the man was sick.

Paul brought their ale and stood with them as they stared down at the body. They had put her on the ladder and, using this as a stretcher, had carried her over to the hall. Baldwin had spent some time digging through the hay, but could find nothing else. There was no sign of who might have killed her.

“You are quite sure?”

The innkeeper threw Baldwin a testy glance. “She was my neighbor. Of course I’m sure! This is Mary Butcher, all right.”

“I had to ask. When did you last see her?”

“Oh, Monday, I think. She was outside when Sir Hector left, and they walked off together.”

Baldwin sighed and looked at Simon, “It seems fairly consistent.”

Simon nodded as the landlord walked out. “With Sir Hector having killed her? Yes. Just like the others.”

“The stab-wounds are the same as those which killed Judith. Two cuts in the back.”

“They’re the same as the ones that killed Sarra too. She had two wounds, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but she was stabbed in the chest; from the front.”

“That was because she was in the trunk.”

“Yes. The killer could merely open the lid and thrust down,” Baldwin commented, motioning with his fist, but then he stopped and stared down at the body again.

“Something wrong?”

“Hmm?” Baldwin shook his head. “No. I was just thinking: Judith and this woman were attacked from behind. I daresay the murderer put his hand over her mouth to stop her screams, and then…” His hands performed the actions as if rehearsing the sequence of events which led to her death. He let his hands drop and stared down at the body meditatively. “I wonder why that seems important to me?”

“What I don’t understand,” Simon said thoughtfully, “is who he was waiting for.”

“What?” Baldwin shot him a keen glance.

“The day when we saw him with Judith. We thought he was waiting for someone, and after today, I assumed it must be Mary; but she has been dead for some days.”

“Yes. Certainly she has been dead some time,” Baldwin mused. “Which does seem strange. Unless he was trying to establish an alibi – pretending to be waiting for her when he had killed her. Another thing, the rats were all over the loft, and yet there is hardly a mark on her.”

Simon raised his eyebrows, then peered at her. “You’re right. There’s hardly a mark on her – only at her fingers and toes.”

“I have never known rats to avoid fresh meat.” Baldwin pondered. “I would have expected more damage.”

“More to the point, though, is why on earth Sir Hector would have put her there at all.”

“It is incredible.”

“Incredible? Bizarre. The man has gone from hiding one corpse in a chest, leaving a second lying in an alley, and now he’s deposited this one under a thin layer of hay where his own men were sleeping. It’s bizarre, all right.”

“Yes,” Baldwin agreed, and turned his solemn eyes back to the woman before him. “She cannot have been there in the hay for long, though. Feel her dress – it is damp. She must have been moved to the stable some time after she died. Before that she was stored somewhere else.”

“Why is she damp?” Simon asked as he gingerly touched the cloth.

“It was raining last night. Heavily. Surely it is not difficult to conclude that she had been secreted away somewhere else, and was then moved to her new hiding place last night during the storm.” Even as the knight spoke his eyes were moving over her body, seeking any further hints as to how she came by her death. She would have been an attractive woman in life, he thought. Slim and well-formed, with large blue eyes and thick brown hair. Her wrists were tiny, and her ankles too, and she had a waist so slender he could have encompassed it with both hands. On her front there was no mark, but for the nibbles of the rats at her fingers and toes. Her back too showed little mark, but they could see where the cloth of her dress had been sliced by the blade which had killed her.

He sighed. It was incomprehensible that someone should snuff out the life of such a dainty young woman. Still more so that this should be merely the third in a sequence.

“Where else could she have been stored?”