Free By Sylvian Hamilton by Max Gilbert Page B

bench outside the alehouse to wait for
Straccan.

    Chapter
12

    'Any
one of them could have taken the relic,' Straccan said, trying to
ignore the buzzing in his ears and the tiptoeing approaches of a
headache. 'The forester, the reeve, Father Osric, Sir Guy—but
not his son—Sir Roger apparently didn't even see the corpse.
The reeve seems unlikely, too squeamish by half, and the only thing
that bothered Sir Guy was that they would be late for the wedding.
Father Osric seems too much a drunken sot for any sort of enterprise.
Which leaves--'

    'The
forester,' said Bane with his mouth full of dinner.

    'Aye,
the forester. So where do we find him?'

    They
found him at home, at his ease and with his feet up, peacefully
sewing rabbit-skins together to make a winter vest. His neat sturdy
well-thatched hut was tucked away in a clearing just off one of the
main forest paths. The door stood open and some hens scratched and
crooned just outside where a scattering of crumbs and scraps had been
thrown for them. The man looked up at their approach but did not move
as Straccan dismounted giving his reins to Bane. As he did so he felt
a spasm of nausea and the headache began to tread more heavily. Not
now, God, please, he muttered, and aloud said, 'Good day,' through
the open door. 'Sir.' The man laid his needlework down, one hand
coming to rest negligently on the hilt of the businesslike knife at
his belt. His face was as brown and seamed as bark, with a great dark
ugly scar on the right cheek. His rolled-up sleeves showed arms
welted with scars. An old soldier.

    'I
am Sir Richard Straccan,' said the knight, at which the man stood
up—he knew his manners—but kept a hand on his hilt, for
he knew his way around as well.

    'What
can I do for you, Sir?'

    Straccan's
headache was getting hard to ignore, and the sunlight was too bright
for comfort. 'I need information,' he said. Til pay for it.'

    'Folks
usually do, Sir,' said the man easily. 'A time-honoured custom. Won't
you come inside?' He hooked a stool forward with one foot, and waited
until Straccan sat before himself sitting down. 'There was a man
killed here a while ago. You found his body. At the crossroads.'

    'Oh,
that. Friend of yours?'

    'No.
Tell me how you came to find him.'

    'I
was patrolling that way. I do random night patrols, so they never
know where I might pop up. When I got to the crossroads, there he
was.'

    'Did
you hear or see anything else? Wolves? Men?'

    'No.'

    'How
did the body lie? All in a heap or scattered?'

    Tn
a heap.'

    'Did
you touch it? Move it at all?'

    'I
kicked over the bit his head was attached to. To see who it was.'

    'Did
you know him?'

    'No.'

    'What
about the clothes?'

    'What
about them?'

    'He
was dressed, not naked?'

    'Yes.'

    'What
had he on?'

    'One
boot –there was only one foot, we never found the other his
leggings, tunic. All torn. Nothing worth the saving.' 'Nothing else
at all? Not even a saint's medal round his neck?' Straccan had to
force his mind to think, his tongue to utter. He was feeling very ill
now; there was no doubt his crusader's legacy, the ague--Saladin's
Revenge, they called it—had chosen today to lay him low.

    'No.'

    'No
jerkin? No belt?'

    'No.'
The man half-turned to swing his stewpot off the fire and set it in
the hearth. Turning back, he looked hard at Straccan. 'You look sick,
Sir. Shall I call your servant?'

    'Did
you find anything on him, man? I'm not here to inform on you. I've
nothing to do with the king, or his justices, or the law.'

    'What
might it be you're looking for, Sir?'

    'He
stole something from me. It might have been round his neck. A little
metal case about this big.' He showed a gap of two inches or so
between finger and thumb and saw the uneasy shift of the forester's
eyes.

    'He
had nothing round his neck. God smite me else,' said the man.

    Straccan
sighed and put both hands to his pounding head. He felt very cold and
clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

    'You
might