Secret Murder: Who Shall Judge? Read Online Free PDF

he’d heard of Snorri Crow’s death. He didn’t let it show on his well-schooled face. “You’ve told me many things,” he said to Otkel. “I see no further reason to detain you in your grief. One of my men will come with you, to aid you in whatever ways he can. If you think of anything else I should hear, tell him.”
    He motioned over a grizzled old veteran named Rhys. “Go with Otkel. Help him however you can.” And watch these wild Northmen to make sure they don’t take things into their own hands, he thought to himself. He knew Rhys would understand without being told.
    Otkel and the other Northmen went to Thorolf’s body. The sun was high now, and the carvings on the wagon were a brilliant pattern of interlaced highlights and shadow. The trees and bushes were the vivid green of spring, and all of the Northmen were dressed very handsomely. They seemed more a tapestry picture than ordinary life.
    Four of the men lifted the rounded body of the wagon off its undercarriage, and placed it beside Thorolf. It was lined with a cushion of furs and rich cloth. They laid him down on that cushion. There was some trouble over his legs, which were beginning to stiffen. They placed his head upon a pillow, and covered him with a blanket of deepest red.
    Otkel straightened the body’s head, combed its hair, neatened its mustache. “Come, Thorolf,” he said quietly. “It’s time for your last journey.” He and three others lifted the wagon and its load, carried it over, and snugged it into place between the wheels. Each took a braided rope of red leather, and tied his corner of the wagon-bed to the carved heads at the ends of the frame. Then they set Thorolf’s polearm, straight up, into a socket at the side.
    A Northman mounted one of the wagon’s team horses. The others were ready to ride escort. The crowd moved back to give them clear passage. Suddenly a look of surprise crossed Otkel’s face, as if something unseen by others rose up before him. He signaled the Northmen to stop, then dismounted and returned to the wagon.
    He bowed his head. His fist traced a pattern in the air before his chest: across, then down. “Pardon the intrusion, Thorolf, but this is important.” He lifted the blanket, examined the corpse.
    His face whitened, then flushed. “To be killed by an enemy is one thing—but to be killed by a thief....” His voice was low, but forceful; the other Northmen heard, but none of the crowd did. He neatly covered Thorolf again, tucked the blanket in, then turned and walked to the bailiff.
    “Matters have changed,” he said without preamble. “Thorolf may have been robbed after all—he had a pouch with a great deal of silver when he left us, and it’s nowhere on his body. I would look for enemies from the north—but a thief may be from anywhere.”
    Gervase Rotour was silent for a moment, then spoke. “Your powers of observation do you great credit, Otkel. But he had his pouch. I have taken it as King’s Evidence that he was not robbed, alongside the arrow that killed him.”
    Otkel’s silence was longer than the bailiff’s. Finally: “Your king is welcome to his evidence, for as long as he needs it. There will be enough silver for Thorolf’s pyre in any case.” He turned abruptly and walked back to his horse. The wagon began to roll, six Northmen preceding it and six behind. It looked for all the world like a noble travelling in state with a band of retainers. Rhys followed at a discreet distance.
    Gervase shook his head, and spoke to Dirk. “We’re going to have trouble from Otkel. We’d best find the killer while the Northmen are busy with Thorolf’s funeral. Otherwise, who knows what they’ll do?
    “Gather our men. We can talk on the way to the fairgrounds.”
    Gervase went to Benedict’s little group. “Many thanks for your help in this matter, and for staying in case you were needed. Now it’s time for me to investigate elsewhere. You are free to go about your