Conrad Starguard - The Radiant Warrior Part 4

"I know nothing. I see nothing. I hear nothing," Ilya chanted.

Soon our waitress went off-duty for the night, so Francine tended our table. I didn't know what to say, and so was silent. Ilya pretended that he had never seen her before, and slipped a few silver pence into her loincloth. She acted as though she didn't recognize him, although of course she must have. They had lived in the same village for years! She gave him a hug in thank you, while he sat there, her magnificent b.r.e.a.s.t.s on either side of his hairy cheeks. I was dumbstruck.

She gave me a squeeze as well, even though I had not tipped her, and then went to her other tables.

Ilya refused to discuss the subject.

We stayed until closing, and then both came back the next night, to find Francine again tending our table.

I'm sure that neither one of us mentioned anything to anybody, but I think somebody must have, for there was an air of foreboding about the inn that night, like a storm about to break or a battle about to be joined.

She was calling herself Mary now, but there was no mistaking her or her thick French accent. It was near closing when Francine's husband hurried into the inn.

He was in his usual clerical garb, but it was covered with snow, for it was a foul night. He was bare-headed and must have been long without his hat, for his hair and eyebrows were thick with rime.

His eyes were red, as with madness or as with one who has not slept for many days. A frightening sight! It was hard to believe that he was the quiet man who had taught me my letters.

Ilya and I froze, but the other twenty or so patrons paid little mind, at first.

"Woman, come home!"

"No!"

"You are my wife!" Father John grabbed her by the hand. She pulled herself away.

"Get away from me! I'm not your wife!"

I saw Father John draw a knife. "Woman!"

By this time, every man in the place was on his feet, and would have gone to her aid, had there been but time. But it all happened so quickly!

Being much smaller than the others, and behind many of them, I could not see what happened. I only heard the scream, the crash, and the dull sound of the body failing to the floor.

Chapter Four.

FROM THE DIARY OF CONRAD SCHWARTZ Krystyana and the innkeeper's wife were shaking me awake. There was trouble at the inn.

I called for Sir Vladimir, Tadaos, and Anna. Whatever was wrong, I wanted some force behind me. As Sir Vladimir was just changing guard with Tadaos, they were both up and in armor, so I didn't bother with mine. They were ready before I was, and the four of us, followed by a crowd of gawkers, went across the snow to the inn, with Krystyana and Annastas.h.i.+a guarding the closed gate.

The innkeeper had let no one else leave and had touched nothing. Francine was crumpled in a corner, nearly naked. I was shocked to see her. I hadn't known that she had left Okoitz. And how could a married woman get, a job as a waitress at the inn? Yet she was in that uniform, what there was of it. She stared at me, but I couldn't read her eyes.

The body was stretched out on the floor .. facedown. The clerical garb was obvious, as was the trickle of blood pooling beneath the head. I turned to the innkeeper. "What the h.e.l.l happened?"

"Well, my lord, the short of it was that he came in, there was some shouting, and she tried to get away. He pulled a knife and she hit him on the head with a stool. I was surprised that it killed him, but it did. I would have smashed him one myself, only I never had the chance."

I nodded, and turned the body over. The forehead was caved in and the face was streaked with blood. It was a few moments before I recognized Count Lambert's priest.

I sat down at a table, still not quite awake. Being lord also meant that you had to be the cop, as well as the judge, the jury, and sometimes even the executioner. I noticed that Natalia had come along.

"Natalia, get everyone's name and then send them home. Lady Francine, come over here. We must talk.

Somebody get us some beer." Coffee would have been more welcome, but there wasn't anything available with caffeine in it.

The place was soon cleared and the body was taken to the church. It was closing time anyway. Francine walked unsteadily over. Her long black hair was disheveled and her face was streaked with tears. They were running down her cheeks and failing to her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"My lady, what is this all about?" I asked.

At my gesture Natalia started taking notes on birch bark. Later, if it was needed, she would make a good copy on parchment, which was expensive.

"About? I suppose it's about my being a murderer." She spoke with a thick French accent. Her huge eyes were still gus.h.i.+ng tears. Her tiny nipples were wet and dripping. I gave her my handkerchief.

"Murder? I'm not sure of that. They say that you tried to get away and he drew a weapon. That's not murder. That's manslaughter at the worse. I'm still not convinced that a crime has been committed."

"For starters, what are you doing here? And what are you doing as a waitress?"

She tried to dry her tears, but they kept coming. She even wiped her chin and chest.

"I came here to earn money. It takes money to travel and France is a long ways away. It is well known that a woman can make more as one of your waitresses than at any other trade, even the most sordid." Even in her emotional state, she was still rational. There was good metal under that lovely exterior.

"But a waitress must be a virgin. The innkeeper's wife should have checked it."

"She did. I qualify." She was somehow half proud and half ashamed at saying this. She was starting to get herself under control.

"But you've been married for years!"

"Have I been? Some would not say so!" You could see the anger that had been locked inside.

"You mean you never ... ?"

"I mean he couldn't!" The tears started again.

What a horrible situation! I tried to imagine what it must have been like for them, him with a stunningly beautiful woman by his side every night for years, and physically unable to satisfy her yearnings. Her knowing always that any of a thousand men would be eager to take her, but being a public figure in a small town, unable to act freely.

And all the while the act, the hypocrisy of pretending to be stalwart pillars of the community. It would have driven a stronger man than me to madness. "So you left him. Did you tell him where you were going?"

"We fought."

"You fought. Did he hit you?"

"We shouted and screamed. He wasn't man enough to hit me. I said that I was going back to France, and I am. But the only merchant caravan was going east. They stopped at Sir Miesko's, and I ended up here."

My decision was obvious. "I'm afraid that you will be staying here for a while. I don't think that a crime has been committed. You merely defended yourself, and I don't think that blow was meant to kill. I don't think that Father John had the right to force you back, because I don't think that he was your husband. A marriage must be consummated."

"On the other hand, a man is dead and Count Lambert has the right to high justice. I'll inform him of how matters stand and see what he says. Frankly, I can't imagine him harming you. It isn't in his character. But until I have his decision, you must stay at Three Walls."

"You will not be restrained, but you may not go beyond the gate either."

"May I continue working?"

"If you want to. Or I could find room for you somewhere. You could join my household if you liked."

There was no jail at Three Walls. In fact there were very few jails in medieval Poland. Jailing someone was not considered punishment, since many would enjoy the chance to sit around, not have to work, and still be fed. A person might be restrained when a trial could not be held immediately and the person might be dangerous or try to run away. I couldn't see either of those situations happening here.

"I'll work. In a few months I'll have pa.s.sage money home."

"As you wish. You go to sleep now. I'll go to Okoitz tomorrow. I'll inform you of Count Lambert's decision as soon as possible." Waitresses bunked together at our inns. She wouldn't be alone.

"Thank you, my lord."

She got up and walked away. She was still a bit unsteady, but her bare back was straight.

I liked the way she said "my lord."

The next morning, I called in each of the witnesses and got essentially the same story from every one of them. The innkeeper had told the simple truth. Natasha kept notes, and while her handwriting was not as attractive as Natalia's, there was no problem with accuracy or legibility. I kicked her up from level one to level two in status and pay. It was still a notch below the other main girls, but the differential left her something to work for.

Before noon, I got to Okoitz, where I found out that the main floor of the cloth factory had been turned into a balloon factory.

Count Lambert was lord of over a hundred knights, but most of them were home for the winter. He had more than that number of young, female clothworkers for his factory, but they were gone also, and would be replaced in the spring with a mostly fresh batch. But besides these, he had eight dozen peasant families locally, which were pressed into service to make his balloon.

When I got there, the wicker basket had been completed and the bra.s.s platter was installed. This had been a beautifully embossed tray two yards across, the sort of thing that might be used to bring out some fancy dish at a big feast. Now it had a thousand holes punched in it, to let the air flow through the fire better.

Had I known how attractive the platter was, I would have had another fire grid made, and taken that one in trade. But such is life, with its many lost opportunities.

Inside, three dozen ladies of all ages were sewing the long cloth panels together. They sat in a great circle of trestle tables, with the finished top of the balloon crumpled in the center. Count Lambert had elected to have his balloon colored red-and-white, the colors of the Piast family and later those of Poland.

I found Count Lambert in the castle.

"Sir Conrad, you are here early this month. I hadn't expected you for another week at least."

"There's been some trouble, my lord. Your priest is dead."

"Dog's blood! What happened?"

I told him the story. "So you see, my lord, I don't think a crime has been committed, but the right of high justice is yours."

"Ordinarily, I'd agree with you, and I don't think that I could bring myself to hang so lovely a woman even if she were guilty. But you're missing the point here. A priest was killed, and a priest's wife killed him.

Well, maybe she wasn't a wife as you say, but it's not for us to decide. We don't have jurisdiction. This is a canon-law matter, not civil law. The matter must come before an ecclesiastical court."

Oh no. If the Church was as inept at settling this thing as it was at handling my inquisition, poor Francine might be a long time getting to France. "What should I do, my lord?"

"Well, you're here now, so you might as well spend a day or two looking over the work being done. When you return to Three Walls, you must write up the particulars of the case and send them to the Bishop of Wroclaw. Get Sir Miesko's advice on the proper form. He used to be a clerk."

"Don't bother coming back here until the matter is delivered. The last thing I need is more trouble with the Church! Oh, yes. And while you're here, write up a request from me to the bishop for another priest. Father 'John used to do that sort of thing for me. No one else but you can do it now."

"Happy to, my lord. But, for after I'm gone, isn't one of Lady Richeza's schoolteachers here at Okoitz?"

"Yes, but I'd forgotten about her. One doesn't think of using a woman for that sort of thing, but I suppose she'll do in a pinch. Not that I'd want to pinch that old hag."

"So Lady Francine is one of your waitresses now! That might be worth a trip to Three Walls to see!"

The next morning, I stopped to see Sir Miesko. He was surprised that the death had occurred. He hadn't even known that Lady Francine had stopped at his manor with the caravan. After some discussion, it was decided that he should return with me to Three Walls to write up the matter himself.

Lady Richeza came with us, and brought her four youngest children. "The oldest boy is twelve now," she said. "It's time he had a try at running the manor himself." In another two years the kid could be married.

The history of the Middle Ages is largely the history of children.

Sir Miesko worked three days and made up separate affidavits from each of the witnesses, the innkeeper, the innkeeper's wife, the priest who eventually examined the body, myself and, of course, Lady Francine.

"If you want the matter to move swiftly, it's best to give them all the information possible on as many separate sheets of parchment as possible," Sir Miesko said.

Just like modem times. Flood 'em with paperwork!

It was Lady Richeza's first trip to Three Walls, and she was quite impressed with the plumbing, kitchen, and bathrooms. She was less favorably impressed with the inn, though of course she didn't stay there, but in my n.o.ble guest quarters.

Lady Richeza and Lady Francine spent a lot of time together, talking.

When the parchment work was completed, I thought it best to deliver it myself. For one thing, Anna could make it to Wroclaw in a day, where it might take a week to go by caravan, and a month could go by before one was going in the right direction at this time of the year.

For another, we were spending huge amounts of money to keep the bra.s.s works supplied with Hungarian copper. In the twentieth century, Poland is one of the world's largest exporters of copper, and I had a pretty good idea of where the mines would be, a halfday west of Wroclaw, near Legnica. I wanted to scout out the area and see who owned the land. Maybe I could buy it on the cheap.

Then, too, I'd never been to medieval Wroclaw, and I was having a minor case of cabin fever. Over everyone's objections, I went alone.

Anna can run like the wind, and leaving at earliest dawn she ran all day almost nonstop until we got to Wroclaw at dusk.

The city had the usual squalid suburbs, but its center was built on an island, Ostrow Tumski, in the middle of the Odra River. This was well fortified with a st.u.r.dy brick wall, as much against floodwaters as against any invader. Above it rose the towers of the centuries' old cathedral and the solider bulk of Piast Castle.

The guard at the bridge snapped to and saluted as 1 rode up. He had probably never seen plate armor before, but he recognized the wolf skin cloak I wore, since I'd given identical ones to Duke Henryk the Bearded and his son Prince Henryk the Pious. Wroclaw was the center of Henryk's power, and had been the family seat for centuries.

In a rather thick German accent, the guard gave me directions to the bishop's residence. The duke had many Germans on his staff, in part because the German laws of primogeniture left a lot of German younger sons landless and thus available for foreign service, and because the duke's wife, mother, and paternal grandmother had all been German. The German princes had as many princesses to dispose of as they did younger sons, and with the concentration of wealth that primogeniture always results in, they could afford whopping big dowries. It was a strange sort of invasion, but an invasion nonetheless.

The porter at the door of the bishop's residence let me in and called forth the chamberlain. This worthy heard that it was a legal matter and delivered me to the bishop's clerk. "Ah, the ill.u.s.trious Sir Conrad Stargard! Please be welcome. The bishop is indisposed, but I can doubtless arrange an audience in a week or two."

I had the distinct feeling that an honorarium paid to the clerk could get me in to the bishop immediately, but fortunately I didn't want to see the old blowhard at all. "That's unfortunate, as I was looking forward to paying my respects to his excellency. Kindly give him I his package. It concerns the death of one of his priests."

"it what?"

"It was a b.l.o.o.d.y death by violence, done by a member of the man's own family. But perhaps I shouldn't talk about it, for fear of causing embarra.s.sment to the Church."

The man was looking at the seals on the package of doc.u.ments. Sir Miesko had insisted on sealing it with his own seal, the personal seal ring that I'd had made for myself and my seal as Master of the Hunt, which I'd given to him as token of his authority. If a dozen other seals had been available, he would have used them as well, just to make the thing took more important. He also had written the bishop's full name and t.i.tles on the outside, along with "personal" and "confidential" in bold letters under it. I'd suggested "For His Excellency's Eyes Only," and Sir Miesko had written that too, liking the phrase.

All this meant that the clerk didn't dare open it, and he didn't dare delay the matter in the hope of squeezing a little graft out of me.