to waylay him; easier than he’d dreamed. The burly figure was instantly recognizable, even in the dark with no lanterns or sconces—they weren’t allowed during the fair because of the hazard—
and although he’d seen the man waiting patiently, he’d done nothing more than duck his head and make a vague sign of the cross.
The killer nudged tentatively at the corpse with his foot. It was almost an anticlimax now he was dead. The action of stabbing him was so quick, and his gasp and collapse so sudden, that he could hardly believe he’d succeeded. There had been no cry, no shriek for help, just a The Abbot’s Gibbet
41
brief, pained gasp, and then he’d dropped like a felled tree. It gave his murderer a feeling of immense power, knowing he could kill so swiftly and easily with impunity. But he couldn’t leave the body here, in plain view for any reveller to discover. He gripped the feet and dragged the figure backward into the alley. The midden pile would be an ideal hiding place—nobody would want to approach that in the dark in case of stepping in some of its components. He could hear a short scrabbling as he hauled the body and glanced about him with distaste. Rats!
Dropping the feet, he stood a moment staring down at the corpse before kicking waste from the pile over the body in an attempt to conceal it. Satisfied with his efforts, he hurried down the alley, the habit flapping at his heels as he went. At the road he slowed, stuffed his hands in his sleeves over his chest in an attitude of contemplation, and walked out and down the road. When he saw Arthur Pole and his wife and daughter, he was secretly delighted to see that all bowed their heads respectfully and offered him a good evening.
- 4 I t was the morning of the fair, and David Holcroft made his way to the Abbey
with relief. The previous night had been as bad as he had expected: after all his work, he’d have liked his wife to show some interest in the fair and sympathy for his exertions. Instead she was withdrawn and uncommunicative. They had hardly spoken ten words, and she had soon gone to bed pleading a sickness in her stomach.
At the bottom of the fair’s field, he turned and gazed back: everything was settled and organized, and he was sure the Abbot could have no cause for complaint. In the early-morning light, the colors stood out with startling clarity. There was a thin mistiness in the air which gave all a silvery sheen as if bathed in an intense moonlight. Flags hung dispiritedly from their poles in the still air, and there was a feeling of unreality about the whole place, as though it was a ghostly mirage. That would soon be dispelled when the customers arrived and the fair was declared open. Instantly it would be transformed into a rowdy beargarden as voices rose to argue and haggle over the choice arrays of goods. He could already see people making their way up from The Abbot’s Gibbet
43
the town, keen to be the first to see the latest items from all over the kingdom and farther afield. As the first hammer strokes sounded he nodded to himself. The furnaces of the smiths were lighted, and he could see the pale streamers of smoke rising like conical wraiths, only to dissipate as they climbed higher. This was the true beginning of the fair, he always felt, when the tradesmen and craftsmen began their morning rituals.
And like the determined call of a church’s bells, he saw that the ringing and clattering from the anvils worked its own magic on the fair’s congregation. The trickle of people heading up to the ground grew into a stream even as he watched, and soon there was a steady river of buyers, hawkers, merchants and entertainers all making their way up from the town itself. It always astonished him how many foreigners the place could hold at fair-time.
He walked with the calm satisfaction that the fair would be a success, but his mood gradually altered as he came close to the Abbey gate. Here he had to wait a moment before
and although he’d seen the man waiting patiently, he’d done nothing more than duck his head and make a vague sign of the cross.
The killer nudged tentatively at the corpse with his foot. It was almost an anticlimax now he was dead. The action of stabbing him was so quick, and his gasp and collapse so sudden, that he could hardly believe he’d succeeded. There had been no cry, no shriek for help, just a The Abbot’s Gibbet
41
brief, pained gasp, and then he’d dropped like a felled tree. It gave his murderer a feeling of immense power, knowing he could kill so swiftly and easily with impunity. But he couldn’t leave the body here, in plain view for any reveller to discover. He gripped the feet and dragged the figure backward into the alley. The midden pile would be an ideal hiding place—nobody would want to approach that in the dark in case of stepping in some of its components. He could hear a short scrabbling as he hauled the body and glanced about him with distaste. Rats!
Dropping the feet, he stood a moment staring down at the corpse before kicking waste from the pile over the body in an attempt to conceal it. Satisfied with his efforts, he hurried down the alley, the habit flapping at his heels as he went. At the road he slowed, stuffed his hands in his sleeves over his chest in an attitude of contemplation, and walked out and down the road. When he saw Arthur Pole and his wife and daughter, he was secretly delighted to see that all bowed their heads respectfully and offered him a good evening.
- 4 I t was the morning of the fair, and David Holcroft made his way to the Abbey
with relief. The previous night had been as bad as he had expected: after all his work, he’d have liked his wife to show some interest in the fair and sympathy for his exertions. Instead she was withdrawn and uncommunicative. They had hardly spoken ten words, and she had soon gone to bed pleading a sickness in her stomach.
At the bottom of the fair’s field, he turned and gazed back: everything was settled and organized, and he was sure the Abbot could have no cause for complaint. In the early-morning light, the colors stood out with startling clarity. There was a thin mistiness in the air which gave all a silvery sheen as if bathed in an intense moonlight. Flags hung dispiritedly from their poles in the still air, and there was a feeling of unreality about the whole place, as though it was a ghostly mirage. That would soon be dispelled when the customers arrived and the fair was declared open. Instantly it would be transformed into a rowdy beargarden as voices rose to argue and haggle over the choice arrays of goods. He could already see people making their way up from The Abbot’s Gibbet
43
the town, keen to be the first to see the latest items from all over the kingdom and farther afield. As the first hammer strokes sounded he nodded to himself. The furnaces of the smiths were lighted, and he could see the pale streamers of smoke rising like conical wraiths, only to dissipate as they climbed higher. This was the true beginning of the fair, he always felt, when the tradesmen and craftsmen began their morning rituals.
And like the determined call of a church’s bells, he saw that the ringing and clattering from the anvils worked its own magic on the fair’s congregation. The trickle of people heading up to the ground grew into a stream even as he watched, and soon there was a steady river of buyers, hawkers, merchants and entertainers all making their way up from the town itself. It always astonished him how many foreigners the place could hold at fair-time.
He walked with the calm satisfaction that the fair would be a success, but his mood gradually altered as he came close to the Abbey gate. Here he had to wait a moment before
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