A Murdered Peace

This time Elric received a warm greeting from the bailiff, who motioned toward two chairs arranged before a fire, a flagon of wine, and two cups sitting on a small table in between. “Unless the young man will be joining you?”

Elric shook his head. He’d left Matt out in the corridor with orders to warn him at once if the king’s men arrived.

He had just settled and the bailiff had offered to pour the wine when Edmund Cottesbrok, one of the sheriffs, strode through the door, preceded by his clerk holding aloft his mace of office as he announced his master’s presence. Elric had forgotten the ceremony with which the sheriffs proceeded through the city. Tongues would be wagging. He cursed himself for not thinking of that. Too late now.

“No, I pray you, do not trouble yourself to rise,” Cottesbrok said, throwing off his cloak and perching on the other chair, nodding to the bailiff to pour for him as well. He lifted his cup, proposing a toast. “To your health, Sir Elric, and that of Lord Neville.”

“You have had some news?”

“I received a message from William Frost, the mayor-elect, who recommends we cooperate in this matter. He believes you are well on your way to discovering the murderer. True?”

Elric wondered how Frost knew of this. Katherine? He found her mark on everything he touched. “What I can tell you is that you have an innocent man in your dungeon, a man who is suffering crippling shackles, no fire, nor cloak, and bare feet in a cold, damp cell.”

Cottesbrok made a concerned sound, but a slight shift in posture prepared Elric for the refusal. “There is the matter of the king’s men,” he sighed. “You understand there is little we can do to deter them. Sir Peter has informed Wrawby and me that he will arrest Berend for treason the moment we release him.” John Wrawby was his fellow sheriff this term. “Until you can convince him that Berend took no part in the plot against King Henry and his family, our releasing him only plays into Sir Peter’s hands.”

Elric glanced back at the pair standing by the door. “Might we speak in private?”

Cottesbrok gestured to his clerk and the bailiff to refresh their cups and then leave. When the door had closed behind the men, the sheriff settled back in his chair, crossing his legs, looking down his long nose. “I can guess what you mean to propose. But before you suggest spiriting him away, Wrawby and I would have you consider the mood of the aldermen and freemen. Everyone has heard how mobs chased down those rumored to be part of the plot against the king and his sons and slaughtered them. Outside the law, without trial. Many here condemn that, it is true, and Berend has friends in the city. He seems to inspire strong loyalty. He might be safe, people might go far to see that is so. But Sir Peter and Captain Crawford are men determined to prove themselves to the new king. And they may have allies in the city. Are you ready to risk your future?”

His argument gave Elric pause, especially the part about Sir Peter possibly having allies in the city. King Henry might have chosen him for this task for precisely that reason. “What do you propose instead?”

“He stays here until you can clear his name.”

“What if I need his help to clear his name?”

“It is not ideal. Nothing is at present. This whole business has the stench of–” Cottesbrok cleared his throat and took a drink. “I merely point out the risk.”

Elric took his wine and went to stand by the fire, staring into the flames, considering how quickly word had spread through the city of the shifting fortunes of the warring cousins the past summer while soldiers were massed there prepared to defend it against Henry of Lancaster. Defending the city for King Richard they were, and heaven help the Lancastrian exile. But then, as the word traveled through the ranks of the great army that Henry was collecting as he rode west, and all the nobles and their men defecting to his cause – even York’s mayor and aldermen offering Lancaster financial support – the soldiers broke up their camps on Toft Green and quietly slipped out the city gates. They joined the uprising in support of Henry of Lancaster, who promised to be a more generous, wiser, more Godly king. Who could have predicted that sudden turnabout?

And now, how quickly would word of Berend’s release spread? How certain was Elric that the people of York would protect Berend? Would he have sufficient supporters with the power to protect him? There was wisdom in keeping him here. Safe.

“Is there another room like this in the castle?” Elric asked.

Cottesbrok frowned. “What do you mean, a room like this?”

“Warmed by a hearth, with a narrow embrasure allowing a little light and air, some comfortable furnishings.”

“Ah. For the prisoner.”

“For the man being held here for his own safety.” Elric marked the man’s apologetic wince, but still asked, “Or did I misunderstand your point?”

“No. Of course not. But if Sir Peter hears Berend might walk out at his leisure, that he is not in chains …”

“Would you consider yourself fortunate to be locked, barefoot and without a warm cloak, in a cold, damp dungeon with no fire, little air or light, shackled so that you could not take a full stride, and lacking even a bench on which to sit?”

The sheriff bowed his head. “You have made your point.”

“Either you prepare comfortable accommodations for Berend, or you assist me in slipping him past the king’s men. And swear on your life that no one in your service will reveal that Berend is no longer in the castle.”

“You would threaten me?”

Elric inclined his head, but did not speak the words as Cottesbrok glanced toward the door.

“You are not certain of your own men,” said Elric. “I understand.” A sheriff served from one Michaelmas to the next, one year, insufficient time to form a bond of loyalty he might trust. And the bailiff was likely to be standing right outside the door, doing his best to hear all that passed between them.

Cottesbrok rose. “I will show you the room. It can be locked, a man stationed outside.”

“For that I want the present jailer. He will choose a man he trusts to relieve him at night.”

The sheriff nodded.

“And you will permit the beguines on Castlegate to bring him his meals and see that he has all he needs.”

“God in heaven you test my patience, Sir Elric. Are we to bow to him when we enter?” Cottesbrok snapped.