Free The Moneylender of Toulouse by Alan Gordon

not too far away, and, like I said, there are taverns out the other way. Begging your pardon again, Domina, but he liked his taverns.”
    â€œThat will be all, good soldier,” said the baile. “Bring in the tanner.”
    The poor fellow was in shackles now, a modest improvement over the hog-tying of the previous evening. He did not seem to appreciate his good fortune. He shuffled into the center of the room between two guards.
    The baile made him take the oath, then the two guards held him against the open coffin. The baile stepped forward, grabbed the back of his head and forced him down until his face was inches away from that of the dead man.
    â€œDid you see him last night?” asked the baile.
    â€œNo,” whimpered the tanner. “I never did.”
    â€œWhat time did you leave your shop?”
    â€œI locked up just before sunset, like I always do, and went home to my wife. She’s here, she’ll tell you.”
    â€œOn pain of death, is he telling the truth?” asked the baile of a woman sobbing in the second row.
    â€œHe is, I swear it!” she blubbered.
    The baile looked back and forth at the two of them, then sighed.
    â€œThere is no reason to suspect you of this,” he said. “Release him.”
    The tanner was unshackled and fell into his wife’s arms, the two of them wailing.
    â€œYou’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?” I whispered to Claudia.
    â€œTell the truth under oath? Or lie?” asked my wife.
    â€œWhichever would get me out of whatever predicament I was in.”
    â€œI would consider it,” she said.
    â€œEvrard of the Borsella household, step forward and take the oath,” said the baile.
    A handsome man in his late twenties dressed in black walked to the center. A large bunch of keys rattled faintly at his waist.
    â€œYou are the keykeeper of the Borsella household,” stated the baile.
    â€œI am, Senhor,” he replied. “Eight years in their service, and with his father before.”
    â€œWill you formally identify the man lying in the coffin before you?”
    Evrard bent forward, the same formal bowing motion that he might have made had his master still lived. He straightened and nodded.
    â€œThat is my master, Milon Borsella, and never was a man sorrier to say it than I am,” said Evrard.
    â€œYour sentiments and loyalties are admirably expressed, good Evrard,” said the baile. “When did you last see your master?”
    â€œIt was the night before last, or rather, the late afternoon,” said Evrard. “He came home, changed, and left shortly before sunset.”
    â€œDid he advise you where he was going?”
    â€œHe did not,” said Evrard.
    â€œDid you know where he was going?”
    â€œNo, Senhor.”
    â€œAs keykeeper, you were entrusted with the security of the household, were you not?”
    â€œI was, and I am, Senhor,” replied Evrard with dignity. “And I hope that I always will be.”
    A murmur of approval from the onlookers, most of whom I guessed were not as trustworthy when it came to other people’s keys. The baile, on the other hand, seemed less satisfied with that answer.
    â€œMy point, Senhor Evrard, is that it seems somewhat surprising that your master, who entrusted you with his keys, did not confide in you his destination.”
    â€œIt was not within the purview of my duties,” replied Evrard. “I was responsible for the household, not for the master’s business affairs outside of it.”
    â€œAnd if there had been an emergency in the household, how would you have contacted him?”
    â€œIf there had been an emergency in the household, I would have taken care of it,” said Evrard. “No need to be disturbing him about it.”
    â€œPrior to his death, had you observed him in any situation that might have suggested to you a threat?” asked the baile.
    â€œNo, Senhor,” he