‘I hope he has not found the hermit dead,’ said Michael uneasily.
At that moment, there was a sudden commotion in the outer bailey, which caused servants and courtiers alike to abandon their duties and hurry towards the hubbub to see what was happening. The squires were among them, leaving Bartholomew and Michael to look questioningly at Langelee.
‘Weste and I had to turn back early, because his horse went lame,’ gasped the Master. ‘I was just coming to tell you that I was home, when I heard Lichet and Quintone quarrelling. I joined the crowd that clustered around to find out why–’
‘And?’ demanded Michael sharply, as an angry roar exploded from the gathering hordes. ‘What is going on? Tell us, quickly!’
‘Lichet has accused Quintone of murdering Margery, and is going to hang him for it. We have to stop him, Brother, because I doubt he has proof. And once Quintone is dead … well, no apology will make up for such a terrible mistake.’
Chapter 10
There was pandemonium in the outer bailey. Nuport was clamouring for Lichet to hurry, on the grounds that every breath Quintone drew was an affront to God and justice, and some courtiers were in obvious agreement. The servants were shocked and uneasy – Margery might have been popular, but Quintone was one of them, and they disliked the precedent that a summary execution would set.
Lichet was wearing his best cloak and a tall hat that accentuated his height, no doubt hoping to quell any objections by virtue of cutting an imposing figure. He ordered Richard the watchman to fetch a rope.
‘This is my fault,’ said Langelee wretchedly, as he, Bartholomew and Michael watched in horror from the back of the gathering crowd.
‘Is it?’ gulped Michael in alarm. ‘How?’
‘Weste and I met Lichet as we rode out earlier. He asked where we were going, so I said we were off to hunt for Jan the hermit – that he had probably witnessed the murders, and so will be able to identify the culprit.’
‘He might, if he is still alive. But I fail to understand why–’
‘Lichet now claims that the hermit told him Quintone killed Margery – which is a lie, because Jan is still missing. In other words, Lichet took my words and twisted them to suit himself.’ Langelee’s expression was anguished. ‘I put the idea of a conveniently absent eyewitness into his greedy head.’
‘Hardly,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘He put it there all by himself.’
Quintone was screaming at the top of his voice, calling on God, His saints, the Lady and Albon to stop him from being murdered by the Red Devil. His choice of words did nothing to encourage Lichet to stay his hand, and the noose was around his neck by the time Bartholomew, Michael and Langelee had managed to push their way to the front of the onlookers.
‘Stop!’ commanded Michael with all the authority he could muster. ‘You cannot hang someone without a fair trial. It is a–’
‘We know how to deal with killers in Clare.’ Lichet’s face was flushed with excitement, and his eyes glittered vengefully as he adjusted the rope. ‘We dispatch them fast, so their vile breath does not taint the air we breathe.’
‘Hear, hear,’ bellowed Nuport. ‘He killed a gentle lady and must pay with his life.’
‘No!’ wailed Quintone. ‘I was with Isabel Morley all that night. Ask her – she will tell you.’
He had to indicate the lady in question with his chin, because his hands were tied behind his back. She paled as heads turned towards her and opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. Then she turned and fled, sobbing her distress. Quintone’s face fell in dismay.
‘Isabel! Come back! They will kill me unless you tell the truth. Please! I–’
His words were cut off abruptly as Lichet hauled on the rope. The Red Devil was stronger than he looked, and within moments, Quintone was kicking empty air.
‘Wait!’ shouted Michael, while Langelee jumped forward to tear the noose from Lichet’s hands. Quintone dropped back to the ground, choking and gagging. ‘The Lady wants convincing evidence before–’
‘I do have convincing evidence,’ snarled Lichet furiously, trying to grab the rope back from Langelee. ‘But it is for her eyes only.’
Nuport powered forward with the clear intention of finishing what the Red Devil had started, but Ereswell’s foot shot out and he went sprawling on the ground, unable to keep his balance in his silly shoes. The squires were about to surge to his assistance when there was an almighty bellow from behind them, so loud and masterful that it brought them to an instant standstill.
‘STOP! AT ONCE!’
It was Albon, who possessed an impressive voice to go with his impressive physique. With him were the Lady and Marishal. They processed forward, Albon clearing a path through the onlookers by dint of his haughty gaze alone – anyone in the way, courtier or servant, was treated to a pointed look until they moved. The Lady followed, leaning heavily on Marishal’s arm.
‘There will be no executions until I am certain of the culprit’s guilt,’ she said firmly, when she was close enough to speak without the indignity of hollering. ‘After all, an apology will hardly suffice, should a mistake have been made.’
‘There is no mistake,’ declared Lichet, eyes ablaze with the strength of his convictions. ‘Quintone slaughtered Margery and Roos, and he was seen doing it by Jan – a holy hermit, whose integrity is beyond question.’
‘How do you know what Jan saw?’ demanded Langelee. ‘He is missing. Ergo, he cannot have spoken to you or anyone else.’
Lichet’s expression was sly. ‘I did not need to speak to him, because I have this instead.’
He presented a document with a jubilant flourish. It was covered in close-spaced writing.
‘What is it?’ asked the Lady warily.
‘Something I found in the hermitage,’ replied Lichet, all smug triumph. ‘A detailed account of exactly what Jan saw: namely Quintone committing murder.’
‘How very convenient,’ murmured Michael, stunned by the transparency of the claim.
A few of the crowd, including Nuport, began to clamour for Quintone’s death again, although they were a minority. Most remained silent – unsettled and uncertain.
‘I doubt Jan is literate,’ called Bartholomew, once the commotion had died down again. ‘And even if he is, his cottage had obviously been abandoned in a great hurry. I do not see him sitting down to produce a document of that length first.’
‘Of course Jan is literate,’ snarled Lichet, although alarm flashed across his face that his scheme might have a fatal flaw. ‘He is a religious man. How else would he read his scriptures every day?’
‘I have never seen him reading,’ shouted Ereswell. ‘Your claims are a nonsense, Lichet, and Jan will prove it when he returns.’
‘He will not return,’ stated Lichet archly. ‘Because Quintone has killed him as well, to prevent him from speaking the truth.’ He whipped around to appeal to his supporters. ‘Are you happy to let Quintone live, knowing what he has done?’
Nuport led the howl that said they were not, so the Red Devil made a third lunge for the rope. Langelee fended him off handily enough, although that would change if Lichet’s allies joined the tussle. Quintone knew it, and began to sob his terror.
‘Give that document to me, Lichet,’ ordered Ereswell, shoving his way forward. ‘I will compare the writing to yours, because I have a sample of it here.’
But Lichet was not entirely stupid, and his grin was exultant as he handed the letter over. Ereswell pursed his lips in annoyance when he saw that the two styles were different.
‘He has done Quintone a serious disservice by underestimating Lichet,’ muttered Michael. ‘Now the Red Devil will persist with his claims until Quintone is hanged.’