A Love For All Seasons (17 page)

While Rob dined on a full tray of cheese pie and cold meat slices, washing it all down with a cup of barley water instead of the spiced wine, the council arrived, one by one. As each man came, he stated his position on the matter at hand by either greeting Rob with an apology or passing him by to clutch in the corner nearest the windows. Since a position on the council required certain fiscal responsibilities for their districts, only the richest of Stanrudde's merchants were represented. Those who supported Rob's innocence included Master Edward, the grossier whose warehouse had burned, and a man Rob knew by his good reputation, a draper, two fullers, and Master Jehan and his father-by-marriage and fellow wool merchant, Master Gerard. At the window stood another draper, a goldsmith, two iron mongerers, and a miller. The last to arrive was the spice merchant.

Startled, Rob watched Katel enter. Why was he surprised to find the spice merchant was a council member? In order to carry off so outrageous a plot, Katel would have needed to be beyond suspicion and reproach as only a city father would be.

In that instant, Rob deeply regretted leaving his personal book in Lynn. Recorded on its leaves was his step-by-step documentation of the original thefts and the investigation that led him from those far-flung fields to Katel's doorstep. As his original purpose had been to quietly resolve the issue without exposing Katel's deeds, he'd left it behind. Now he saw that without this proof in hand, his accusation would not be believed.

Well, it was an easy enough thing to retrieve. Lynn was but a half-day's ride if a man owned a hardened seat and a strong horse. Hamalin had both. He could be there and back in but a day and a night's time. With that comforting thought in mind, he studied Katel.

The change was startling. Gone was the comeliness, taken by the years and concealed beneath his excess weight. The maroon color of Katel's tunic only enhanced the sickly undertone that lurked beneath his now florid coloring. No doubt it was the rottenness that had ever lived in him finally eating its way to the surface.

Katel glanced at Rob as he greeted Master Jehan. Pleasure and disappointment tangled in his gaze. It said that, although the spice merchant had hoped Rob would have already hung, Katel retained complete confidence that Rob would not escape this fate.

With all assembled, Master Jehan invited the council to seat themselves. Resembling Christ's disciples in their number if not their wisdom, the twelve filed behind the table to find a place on the waiting benches. As they did so, the kitchen's door opened and the wool merchant's mother slipped quietly into the room to sit in one of the chairs near the hearth. Offering Rob a glance that might have been meant to reassure, she disappeared into the shadowy depths of the seat's high back.

Once again Rob shielded himself in his cloak of calm and stepped forward to scan the assembled merchants. When he had their full attention, he said, "Masters, you have called me here to inquire of me and my doings. Ask and I will answer you in all honesty. On this you have my word."

The miller leaned forward to look down the table at the others. "If we are to keep up the form, must he swear upon the relics?"

Rob's pride screamed, but there was no need to defend himself this time. Master Edward, the grossier, slammed a clenched fist down upon the tabletop. Anger at the insult done to one of his fellows was written clearly on his face.

"This is Robert of Lynn," he shouted, "not some regrater selling onions today and ribbons tomorrow. You do not ask if his word is good. All the world knows it is."

Katel straightened on his bench. "I would confirm what Master Edward says. When Master Robert served with me in Master Walter's household, he was never anything but truthful and honest. I cannot think that time has done aught to change that about him. We can accept his word without question."

Anger surged through Rob. Katel intended to support him, thereby making his own accusation impossible, at least one uncorroborated by evidence. Rob damned himself all over again. How could he have forgotten Katel never fought in the open as honest men should, but forever cloaked himself in appearances?

"Thank you, Master Katel," Master Edward said, then looked at Rob. "Know you Master Robert, I have protested your innocence to them from the first. If I can do so despite that the mob destroyed my properties, then these men should accept my word as true! Once again, I beg pardon for the insults they lay upon you."

"You'll not beg his pardon on my behalf," one of the smiths bellowed, his voice as big as the arms straining beneath his sleeves. "I see no reason to doubt that it was he who did this. What other reason would the starving have to cry against him, save that it was his grain they could not afford to buy? He is not a local man."

"All the more reason to ask yourself if it could have been him at all, Master Harold," Master Jehan protested. "We can all agree that Master Robert is no fool. Only a fool would come into a strange town and openly release illegal grain in his own name."

"Aye, and mayhap this is what he expects us to believe," Master Harold stubbornly insisted. "I say we have our culprit. We have no greater responsibility than to hold him for the sheriff as we would any other man accused of lawbreaking. And in holding him we not only satisfy those who call for his destruction because of the damage done to their properties, we also free ourselves of any connection to him." The smith brushed his palms, one against the other, as if removing from his gloved fingers any trace of Rob.

"Nay, we cannot!" a draper cried. "I tell you all, if we think to wait for the sheriff's arrival, there will be more upheaval. This time, they'll destroy our homes and livelihoods! We must hang him today. Only in this way will all truly be satisfied and we be free of threat."

"I will not see a fellow tradesman hanged simply because a crowd calls for it, despite that I am threatened," Master Gerard retorted in angry scorn. Even the outspoken smith nodded his head in agreement to this.

Gratified that the council would not bend in this direction, Rob took a step toward the table to reclaim their attention. "Masters, please. It would greatly aid me if you told me last night's tale." Aye, he needed to look at what Katel had done so he might know how to block the next twist.

Master Harold, the smith, turned on him. "You ask for what you already know! Yesterday, did your agent skulk about our town, calling in secret and under-handed ways to those brave or foolish enough to deal in outmarket grain. To these regraters did he sell what he had, promising them more on the morrow. These idiots took their illegal goods onto the streets and all too swiftly sold what they had at great profit to themselves. This left others yet clamoring for what was already gone, while still others cried for what they needed and could not afford. That's when those regraters let slip that there was supposedly more in store. A mob formed, the rabble going off in search for what your agent had promised for the morrow. It was you who set our town ablaze!" His outrage filled this room with its volume.

Rob waited until the ringing echoes died before speaking. "Who says it was my agent?"

"The regraters." This came from the goldsmith. He leaned forward as he spoke, bracing his elbow on the table. His handiwork, a chain with links shaped like arrowheads, glittered as he moved. "Some in the crowd were not content with seeking out grain; instead, they sought to punish those who would make a profit on their misery. They beat the regraters, trying to steal what coins they'd earned. When the guard rescued them, they most gratefully spilled their tale."

"This you believe?" Rob asked in surprise. "I've never known those who participated in illegal acts to be honest about their crimes. But, that is neither here nor there. It could not have been my agent, as he was within the abbey walls all of yesterday and last even. So will every monk who saw him swear."

"It was his man," Master Harold insisted, looking up and down the table's length at his fellow council members. "Did not the regraters describe the one from whom they'd bought their grain as young, comely, and fair of hair with red in his beard? Many have seen such a man in the grossier's company. Aye, and this fellow spoke with a strange dialect, just as Lynnsman would be wont to do."

"There are hundreds of men who answer to that description," Rob's fellow grossier replied with a snort, "and dialects can be affected. I tell you, masters, this is Robert of Lynn. If he vows it was not his agent or his wheat that is enough for me. We must look elsewhere."

"Look elsewhere?" At the table's end, Katel shifted as if struck by this comment. "While I also doubt Master Robert is at fault for what happened last night, I must remind the council it is not our duty to look anywhere at all. I agree with Master Harold. All that the law requires of us is that we hold for the sheriff those against whom the hue and cry is raised, as has been done in this instance. It is not for us to decide whether Robert the Bastard is guilty or innocent of the charges."

If Rob refused Katel the reaction he no doubt thought to dig from him with that name, Mistress Alwyna had not his control. The old woman nigh on leapt out of her chair, then turned in the seat to stare at him. Her gaze begged him to confirm that he was, indeed, bastard-born. Pride made Rob lift his shoulder until he could not see her.

"Ach," Katel said, his brows drawing down, his face the picture of regret. "Pardon Rob, but I forget me that you've no fondness for that name. I apologize to you and the council for the habits of my youth."

Rob looked away from him, forcing down hatred as he pondered over why Katel might desire the sheriff's involvement. It could only mean there was some sort of trail connecting Rob to the grain. If the council dared to insist he remain in Stanrudde for the sheriff's arrival, Rob would see to it there was more than one trail for the shire's lawman to follow. But already the majority of the council swung in the direction of releasing him. A smile of triumph formed in Rob's heart, if not on his face, as he prepared to deal the blow that would free him from Katel's trap.

"Master Katel is right," Rob said as he again scanned the assemblage. "Your council must keep to the law. Since my oath alone does not convince you that I speak the truth, I will stay in Stanrudde's abbey while I await the sheriff's arrival. To him will I spill my evidence and my vows."

"Nay," cried Master John, the cowardly draper. "The crowd will tear us apart!"

"Enough," the goldsmith said, his disgust cutting through the man's complaint. "You did not hear what Master Robert just said to us. If the sheriff proves him innocent as he vows he is, then each day we hold Master Robert here under false arrest, might he not be calculating the sort of damage we do his repute? I fear he even now considers suing us for defamation."

The room went silent. All eyes, save Katel's, turned on Rob. Rob but lifted his brows at this very real possibility.

The goldsmith turned flinty eyes on his fellow councilmen. "Masters, if we are not certain he is our culprit then I vote we release him, telling the townsmen he is proved innocent. So too, will we inform them that the sheriff has been called to find the true evil-doer. God knows it will cost us dearly to house and feed the sheriff and his men, but that will be less than the damage Master Robert's suit might do us."

Something hard hit the outside of the house, the sound of stone ringing against stone echoing into the hall. Another stone hit the wall. The third rock struck the window's covering with such force the skin tore from its mount. Stone and skin tangled as it bounced across the table, then rattled off its edge and came to a stop near Mistress Alwyna's foot.

In the lane men shouted. Iron thudded dully against wood as the town guard banged swords against shields. Downstairs, the door flew open and someone roared up the stairs.

"They gather," the gatekeeper panted out as he thrust into the hall, "more with every moment. The guard is trying to drive them away, but there will soon be more than they can handle."

The shouting grew in volume, testifying to his claim. Yet another stone hit the house as the random calls sorted itself into a new cadence. Brutally and simply, the gathering mob began to call for the head of Robert the Grossier and death to all the councilmen.

Chaos erupted around Rob. Master Jehan and Master Gerard nigh on flew out of the room, no doubt to set the household to defending their walls. The smith bellowed, ready to charge out the gate and decimate those who dared to threaten him. Master John sobbed in fear, while the goldsmith suggested they give Rob to the mob and make good their own escape. Amid all this, Katel remained an island of calm. Too calm. It said he'd known this attack would come.

Rob drew a sharp breath. Katel had not trusted the council to go where he led. To make certain he achieved his goal the spice merchant would keep the town aflame until the council had no choice but to hang Rob to preserve their own lives. Jesu, but there was no escape from him. Once again, the reaction of the wool merchants mother to his face shot through Rob. It was an omen; he would die.

He started as Mistress Alwyna touched his sleeve. It took all Rob's will to look at her, fearing he would see his death in her brown eyes. Instead, her gaze was filled with the need to aid him

"Come and quickly so," she said softly. "My son has arranged to see you safely away."

That Katel watched without complaint as Rob followed the old woman into the kitchen was a testimony to his certainty of success. Rob crossed the small chamber to squeeze himself down the narrow winding stairs that led to the cellar that lay beneath it. Out the cellar doors they went, across the courtyard to pass between the house and stable. Behind the stable was a narrow strip of kitchen garden, now slumbering for the winter under a frosty blanket of straw. At the garden's end was a stream, the water standing still and solid within its banks.