Ralf’s mood was as pained as his aching head, and the market smells did not improve either. Normally, the butcher stalls did not trouble him, but the metallic stench of blood and offal only reminded him of his failure to bring a murderer to justice. The crowner turned around and walked back toward the sellers of vegetables.
“Isn’t it a fair day for market?” A young widow, with three children trailing behind, shifted her basket filled with green leeks and yellow mustard. Tilting her head to look up at the crowner, her smile revealed an almost full complement of teeth.
Ralf nodded with an abrupt but courteous enough gesture and walked on. Feeling uneasy, however, he glanced back.
The widow was still watching him. She waved, then reached out for one straying child and pulled him closer with a mild rebuke.
“I think she likes you, Crowner.”
Ralf felt his cheeks flush as he spun around.
Gytha stood just to his left.
“Have you been too busy rendering the king’s justice to notice?” She grew more solemn as she saw the injury to his head. “Surely that wound has only recently addled your wits.”
His face grew hotter. “A minor thing,” he muttered, fingering the tenderness. Ever since she was a wee lass, he had liked Tostig’s sister. She made him laugh with her frank wit. Now that she was a young woman, however, he sometimes found her ways oddly disturbing.
“Brother Beorn’s work,” she concluded, but her brow remained furrowed.
Unable to come up with anything else to say, he went back to the subject of the widow. “Her husband and I fished together as boys. When I heard he had drowned in a storm last winter, I was saddened.”
Gytha raised an eyebrow with her unspoken question.
“I am not interested in marrying her,” Ralf growled.
Two plump wives, and longtime friends, passed by with bright smiles and friendly nods. After a few steps, they drew closer together and began to giggle in whispered conversation.
It was Gytha whose cheeks now turned pink.
But not unattractively, Ralf thought, then grinned with gentle delight. “Your basket is full, I see,” he quickly remarked, wanting to soothe whatever had caused the girl’s embarrassment. “What can Prioress Eleanor possibly lack with her fine priory gardens?” Curious, he reached into the basket and began to sort through the contents.
She swatted his hand. “Hush, Crowner! I’m here to listen. ‘Tis for deception that I am buying a few things.”
“And the reason for this?”
“Gossip. I wanted to learn what the village is saying about these murders.”
“What!” he roared.
Gytha grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the crowd.
“Do you think…?” One of the plumb wives asked the other as they stared after the departing couple. With a beaming smile, her friend nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Ralf muttered as he and Gytha found a quiet hillock where they sat down in the warm grass.
“You were as loud as your stomach often is,” she replied, but her tone did not suggest she meant these words as her usual jest.
“You should not be getting involved in this matter. It is not your concern, and I do not want you to get hurt,” he hissed.
“Because I am Tostig’s young sister,” she snapped.
“That, too,” he replied and then suddenly realized he may have suggested more than he intended. “I…”
“Oh, be silent, Crowner! Your tongue always has balked at your teeth unless you are tormenting suspects. Let me tell you what I learned, and you will see that no harm could come of this.” She dug through her basket and pulled out a small fruit tart. “Eat this while I talk. It will keep you quiet while I chatter. Anyone passing will assume you were hungry and I am simply amusing my brother’s best friend with childish babble.”
He took the tart and bit into it. “Where’d you get this?” he asked. “It’s good.”
Gytha scowled. “Methinks you need a nurse to take care of you more than your daughter does!”
“I, rather, she most certainly needs a good woman…”
“…and I’ll find her one. That, I promise. Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”
Ralf nodded sheepishly.
“The news abroad is that Ivetta and Martin were poisoned by drinking a potion of crushed yew berries. When I was examining these onions, a group of women nearby were complaining that their husbands now refuse to drink anything without having some creature lap at it first. One said she must be grateful her husband didn’t want her to test it rather than the dog!”
“Is there growing concern over these deaths?” Ralf licked his fingers and looked hopefully at the basket resting between them.
Gytha found another tart and tossed it to him. “Despite the priory’s efforts, some do still think the Devil is involved. The baker’s wife told me that Will, the blacksmith, was seen in conversation with old Tibia just before he disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“He has not been seen at the smithy for many hours.”
Ralf swallowed his bite. “Did she say what passed between the two?”
“No, but she thinks the herb woman is a witch, and Will sold his soul to the Devil through her. That would explain why he has vanished, she says. As for the other deaths, the baker’s wife believes Satan killed them because he had grown impatient waiting for those wicked souls to come to him.”
“She doesn’t think they were poisoned?” He gestured expectantly at the basket.
This time, she ignored his hungry look. “No one doubts that yew was involved, but, according to the baker’s wife, that proves Satan’s hand in the deaths. Everyone knows how poisonous the tree is. Would you allow Sibely to even play in the shadow of a yew? Only the Devil can handle it without harm.”
“Are there no suspects mentioned?”
“Only the Prince of Darkness.”
“Thus panic grows,” Ralf muttered, covering his face with his hands. “And I am no closer to finding the guilty one.”
Gytha rose and picked up her basket. “You will, Crowner. You always do.”
He looked up and smiled with gratitude at her gentle words.
“Oh, you are quite welcome to the help I have given you.” She tossed her head, and then left him before he could find words to reply.
Ralf watched her walk away, his mouth still open. When she did find a husband to suit her, he wondered if he should pity the man or envy him for winning the heart of such an amazing woman.