The Treason of the Ghosts

join me in the
Golden Fleece. Have a tankard of ale.’
    The
change in the simpleton’s face was wonderful to behold. He shook himself free
and danced from foot to foot, humming under his breath.
    ‘Peterkin’s
rich! Peterkin’s rich!’ he slurred.
    ‘Aye,
Peterkin’s a friend of the King,’ Corbett added.
    He
was about to walk away when Mother Crauford caught him by the fingers.
    ‘That
was kind of you, clerk,’ she whispered. ‘But, be careful as you walk through
Haceldema!’



Chapter 13
     
     
    The jurors
were a nondescript group of petty tradesmen and farmers. They sat in a corner
of the taproom, shuffling their feet, looking rather woebegone, frightened of
meeting the royal clerk. They had fortified their courage with stoups of ale.
Tressilyian cleared the taproom of everyone else. Sir Maurice Chapeleys sat
some distance away, feet up on a stool, drumming his fingers on the table.
Chanson went to check on the horses. Ranulf sat beside Corbett. Tressilyian
took charge. He introduced the clerk and smiled sadly.
    ‘Time
passes quickly,’ he declared. ‘Five of the jury which tried Sir Roger Chapeleys
have died.’ His smile disappeared. ‘Two have been murdered. Now, you remember
the days of the trial well, yes? The trial took place in the Guildhall?’
    They
all nodded like a group of obedient mastiffs.
    ‘I’ve
never asked you this,’ Tressilyian continued. ‘The deliberations of the jury
are usually secret but why did you return a verdict so swiftly, in less than an
hour?’
    ‘It
was your summing up.’ A burly tradesman, a butcher by the blood on his apron,
spoke up.
    ‘Yes
it was,’ Tressilyian conceded. ‘Your name is Simon, isn’t it? You are a
flesher?’
    ‘That’s
right, my lord.’
    ‘Please
answer my question!’
    ‘I
can’t remember every detail,’ the flesher replied, ‘but the evidence was clear:
Sir Roger went down to Widow Walmer. He was seen by Deverell the carpenter —
and yes, we now know he’s dead.’ He gazed round at his companions. ‘And, by the
way, what protection do we have? It wasn’t our fault Sir Roger was executed.’
    ‘No one
said it was,’ Corbett replied. ‘Do continue.’
    ‘Sir
Roger was seen hurrying away from the widow’s cottage. He possessed belongings
of the other women who had been murdered.’
    ‘What
I’m interested in,’ Tressilyian declared, ‘and what Sir Hugh wants to know, is
what happened in the jury room after you retired. Molkyn was your leader,
Thorkle his deputy?’
    ‘Well,
I’ll be honest,’ Simon replied. ‘Molkyn was a bugger. I didn’t like him alive,
I don’t like him dead. He was all hot for Sir Roger being hanged. Guilty, he
said, as soon as the door was closed. Thorkle, of course, followed suit.’
    ‘And the rest of you?’ Corbett asked.
    He
stared round at these men with their chapped faces and raw red hands. He felt
sorry for them. It was common for juries to be intimidated but, there again, they could prove surprisingly stubborn, particularly
when a man’s life was at stake.
    ‘Some
of us objected. I am not going to say who. Rein in your horse, we told Molkyn.
You could see he didn’t like Sir Roger.’
    ‘It
was Furrell.’ One of Simon’s companions spoke up. ‘I was very concerned about
Furrell’s evidence. He claimed Widow Walmer was alive after Sir Roger left. He
also hinted at how others were seen going down to her cottage.’
    ‘Ah
yes.’ Simon took up the story. ‘But Molkyn told us to shut up. He alleged
Furrell had been bribed by Sir Roger. The knight could have gone back, whilst
the people Furrell had glimpsed going down to Widow Walmer’s cottage were
probably Repton the reeve and others who discovered the corpse.’
    ‘How
did you vote?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘By a show of hands.’
    ‘And
what convinced you?’
    Corbett
moved on the stool. He wished Ranulf, sitting beside him, would stop humming
softly under his breath. His manservant glanced at him and winked. Corbett
wondered what was wrong. He turned back to the flesher.
    ‘The evidence? You mentioned the justice’s summing up at the end of
the trial. I asked how you voted? ’
    ‘It
was Deverell’s testimony.’ The flesher sighed. ‘The visit to
Widow Walmer and the goods being found in Sir Roger’s manor. Molkyn was
urging us on; eventually we all had to agree.’ He shrugged. ‘The verdict was
returned.’
    ‘And since then?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘Oh,
we’ve discussed it — when the murders began