Secret Murder: Who Shall Judge? Read Online Free PDF Page A

there was a buzz of conversation farther away. Ten stopped their horses with the wagon, near Thorolf. Otkel and two others rode up to the bailiff and dismounted.
    Otkel wore a blue tunic with silver embroidery, white breeches with blue cross-garters, boots, and a short cape of white bear-fur from the land of the Finns. His arms and fingers were covered with silver rings. Around his neck was an amulet of a one-eyed man. Gervase thought he had never seen Otkel looking so handsome, or so dignified.
    It takes a funeral to bring out the best in some, the bailiff thought. “It is a sad occasion,” he said aloud.
    Otkel replied. “We’ve come for Thorolf, but first, tell us what has happened here. The stories we’ve heard can’t all be true.”
    “Benedict found the body at sunrise. He immediately sent for me and for a priest, who gave Thorolf the final sacraments. As far as we can tell, Thorolf was killed between sundown and night, by an arrow shot from ambush. He was not robbed.
    “You may be able to answer some of the remaining questions. Thorolf usually traveled about with you and the other men, yet no cry was raised last night. Either he was alone, or with an accomplice of the killer. How did he come to be separated from you?”
    A look of pain crossed Otkel’s face. “He sent us away. We were at the fair most of the day, negotiating sales. About an hour before sundown he told us to go back to Northlanding, to make sure the promised shipments were arriving at our warehouse and the servants were taking proper care of them. ‘I have one piece of business that won’t need your help,’ he said.”
    “I thought you all shared in business. Why would he prefer you not be there for some of the negotiations?”
    Otkel smiled with half his mouth. “I think this business was with a woman. Who among us is fond of women that are shared?”
    “Hm,” said the bailiff, then he was silent for a moment. “Men have killed before, over women. Do you think that’s happened here?”
    “How should I know?” For a flash, Otkel was his old self again: querulous, suspicious. “We don’t even know it was a woman—we’re only guessing.”
    Gervase spread his hands in a calming gesture. “You’ve pointed to a trail. We’ll send the hunters out, and see what game they find.
    “I wonder, also, what happened to Thorolf’s mount. A frightened horse heads for his stall—and this one was frightened enough to throw Thorolf. You surely would have been out searching had the animal come home without the man. The killer may have made his escape on Thorolf’s horse, which could be a very important clue.”
    Otkel’s eyes widened. “You’d have to be brave and nimble to catch Storm when he was panicked, let alone ride him—few besides Thorolf could handle him at the best of times. But we haven’t seen Storm since yesterday, so you may be right.”
    The bailiff smiled. He was learning a great deal from Otkel, and in the distance he could see his men talking quietly with Thorolf’s men. They would come together to weave the larger picture, after the Northmen had gone. But for now, Otkel was his chief concern.
    He took the arrow from his belt. When he unwrapped it, the blood had dried so it could be handled freely. He showed it to Otkel and the other two. “This is the arrow that killed Thorolf. Does anything about it seem familiar?”
    Otkel took the arrow, turned it over in his hands, sighted along the shaft, checked the nock and fletching. He examined the head carefully. “Give me that cloth, will you?” he asked the bailiff absently, and used it to clean away the crusted blood.
    “This arrowhead was made by Ragnar Forkbeard,” he said. “See, there, that rune? That’s his mark. Ragnar and his men have been sworn foes to us for six years and more. They were the main force behind our outlawry from Surtsheim. They’ve shed our blood before.”
    The bailiff thought of one of Ragnar’s men, found dead year before last; and