The Good Death

by S. D. Sykes

  * * *

  I quickly left the gully and rested against the rock face for a while, letting my heartbeat return to its usual speed. There is momentum and energy in anger, but it can also cloud judgment. And I needed a clear head to continue. Once my initial rage had subsided, I then re-mounted my horse and rode along the ridge until arriving at a clearing that was dominated by the strangest sight. It was a rock formation, separated from the rest of the ridge by a few hundred yards, but still formed from the same sandstone. It was a monument formed by nature. One large, strangely shaped boulder rested precariously on top of another, looking something like a giant frog sitting on a pedestal – as if the wind could be credited with sculpting something so specific from a lump of stone. This was the Frog Rock – the place that Rose had described to me. There could be no doubt of that.

  I tied my horse to a tree and walked around the rock, hoping to see a cottage nearby which might match Rose’s description – but there was nothing. Only scrubby grass surrounded by trees. And then I began to worry that Rose had confused two memories in her state of agitation – the sighting of the Frog Rock and the supposed ambush by Peter. It was possible that I was nowhere near the place where she and Maud had been attacked. I couldn’t fend off a brief moment of despair, before I gathered my thoughts again. I couldn’t give up now. Maud had to be somewhere nearby.

  So I walked the perimeter of this clearing several times until something in the distance caught my eye. Its square proportions meant that it had to be a building and not another natural feature, though the forest had almost completely reclaimed it. I crept closer, seeing a building that had once been a stable, or even a place of habitation – except it was now covered in a thick, dismal blanket of ivy. At first glance it seemed deserted. And yet…

  And yet, there was a door to the far side. It was made of newly sawn wood, and it was firmly shut. But I could hear voices. Somebody was inside.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  My first plan was to approach the door and push my way in, until I thought better of the idea. Instead, I waited behind a nearby tree, hoping to identify the voices that were coming from within the cottage. The sounds were muffled at first, but then I could make out the groans of a woman alongside the voice of a man. My heart nearly burst out of my chest as I listened more intently, for the man spoke with the low tones and precise inflection that I knew so well. Even at this late hour, I had still held out some hope that Rose was wrong about Peter. But this was his voice behind the door.

  I was deciding my next move, when Peter himself emerged from the cottage, holding a bucket and sniffing the air, as if he were a deer trying to sense the huntsman. Thankfully he didn’t see me, as I darted back against the tree just in time to see him lift a wooden locking bar across the door. After this, he headed off into the forest – presumably to fill his bucket from a nearby stream.

  With Peter gone, I ran to the door, lifted the locking bar and stepped inside the cottage to find Maud lying on the floor with her back against the far wall. Her hands and feet were bound with rope and her mouth was gagged with a length of cloth. When she saw my face, she whimpered desperately for help, which only caused me to freeze, feeling the blood drain from my head. There could now be no doubt about Peter’s intentions.

  Maud groaned again and I quickly came to my senses.

  ‘Oswald,’ she gasped, as I pulled the cloth away from her mouth. ‘Thank the saints. You found me,’ she said, kissing my fingers. ‘I knew that you would come. I knew that you wouldn’t forget me.’

  ‘I didn’t know where to look,’ I replied. ‘But then I found Rose in the forest and she told me what had happened.’

  Maud’s face darkened for a moment at the mention of Rose’s name, before she lifted her bound wrists towards me. ‘Please, Oswald,’ she said. ‘Just cut these ropes before Peter comes back. I need to get out of here.’

  I took my short sword from its scabbard and freed her hands quickly, before turning my attention to the rope about her ankles. This was a harder job, as Peter had secured this binding with many twists.

  ‘Come on,’ she urged me, starting to panic. ‘Be quick. He won’t be long.’

  I worked my way through the tough fibres, though my progress was hindered by Maud’s constant squirming. ‘Stay still,’ I whispered. ‘I can’t cut this rope if you keep moving.’

  ‘Please. Hurry,’ she replied. ‘He’ll kill us both if he finds you here.’

  I continued to cut at the rope, when a shadow fell across the room. ‘Oswald?’ came a voice from behind me. I raised my sword and turned around to see Peter silhouetted against the door.

  Maud shuffled back to the wall – her legs still bound together – as Peter stepped inside the cottage and closed the door behind him. Suddenly we were in near darkness – the only light coming from the few gaps in the rafters above.

  I pointed my sword at my old tutor. ‘Keep away,’ I said, trying to control the fear in my voice.

  Peter calmly placed his bucket onto the floor. ‘What are you doing here, Oswald?’ he asked me.

  ‘He’s come to save me,’ said Maud. ‘I told you that he’d come.’

  Peter laughed at this. ‘Nobody could save you, Maud Woodstock.’

  I held my ground as Peter stepped towards me. ‘What are you doing here, Oswald?’ he asked again.

  I ignored this question. ‘I found the gully, Peter,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen the bodies.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said with a long and regretful sigh. ‘I didn’t want that to happen.’

  ‘No wonder you killed Sawyer,’ I replied. ‘Knowing he could lead people there.’

  Peter’s forehead creased into a frown, before he started to laugh at me. He actually laughed. ‘For Goodness’ sake, Oswald,’ he said. ‘What’s got into you? I didn’t kill Sawyer. The man was already dead when I reached him. I gave him a Christian burial. Nothing more.’ He paused to rub his hands over his face. ‘And I shall do the same thing for those poor souls who’ve been dumped in that gully. Once I’ve sorted this woman out.’ He waved at Maud. ‘So, just tie her up again,’ he said. ‘And stop acting like a fool.’

  ‘No.’ I said, turning back to Maud – kneeling down to start cutting again at the ropes about her ankles.

  It was not a moment before Peter laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘Tie her up, Oswald,’ he said. ‘Do as I tell you.’

  ‘No,’ I said, pushing him away with my elbow before returning my attentions to the rope. ‘I will not.’

  Peter came at me again. This time his clasp at my shoulder was firm and insistent. I turned to repel him again – thrusting my sword towards him, but he dodged the blade easily before grabbing my wrist. I tried to keep hold of my sword as he tightened his grip, but I was forced to let it fall to the floor.

  Maud urged me to fight back, but Peter had retained the strength and agility of his youth, despite years of drinking. After disarming me so easily, he picked up my sword, shoved me through the door and hurled me onto the grass outside. He placed the locking bar across the door, and then strode over to point the tip of my own short sword into my face.

  We stared at one another for a moment in silence, but I didn’t dare to get to my feet. Peter looked deranged and sweaty, and his hand was shaking violently.

  ‘Not enough brandy in your hunting lodge, then?’ I said, nodding at the trembling blade. ‘You should have planned that better.’

  ‘This place has nothing to do with me,’ he spat. ‘How could you even think such a thing?’

  I went to answer, when Maud began to kick at the door from the inside of the cottage – her bound feet hammering at the wooden panels like a battering ram. ‘Get me out of here, Oswald!’ she called. ‘Please!’

  Peter stepped over to the door and shouted through the wood. ‘Get back against the wall. Nobody is coming to save you.’

  Maud continued to thump. ‘Don’t abandon me, Oswald,’ she pleaded. ‘I know that you came here to save me. I know that you love me.’


  Peter looked at me in dismay. ‘God’s bones, Oswald,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me that you’re in love with this she-devil?’ He wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Don’t believe him,’ shouted Maud. ‘The man is a liar and a murderer. He wants to kill both of us.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Peter shouted, banging at the door with the pommel of my sword. ‘I am neither of those things, Oswald,’ he replied, turning back to face me. ‘Maud Woodstock is the liar here. Not me.’

  I rose slowly to my feet, wary of attack. ‘I don’t believe you, Peter,’ I said, stepping forwards, and getting as close to Peter as I dared.

  ‘I don’t understand this, Oswald. Why would you doubt me?’ he said, his face screwed into a scowl. ‘Me? Of all people?’

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Oswald!’ shouted Maud. ‘It’s all lies!’

  Peter kicked at the door with his heel. ‘Be quiet. You whore!’

  ‘It’s me who doesn’t understand, Peter. How could you do it?’ I said, taking another step forward. ‘How could you torture and kill those women?’

  ‘Because I didn’t do it, Oswald,’ he growled. ‘That’s why.’

  ‘But I found Rose Brunham in the forest,’ I said. ‘She told me what happened. She told me that you tracked her and Maud to this cottage. That you attacked them.’

  ‘Christ’s bones!’ he replied, his face now red with anger. ‘This is all nonsense. Will you please just listen to me?’

  I instinctively stepped back, knowing Peter was at his most dangerous when he was riled. My tutor’s passions rose up and down like the pans of a balancing scale – especially when he was missing a drink.

  ‘Come on then, Peter,’ I said softly, buying myself some time. ‘Tell me about Maud, then. Why should I believe that she’s guilty?’

  ‘Do you really want to know, Oswald?’ he asked – a pained frown now rippling across his forehead. ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I want you to convince me. I want to hear your side of the story.’

  Peter studied my face for a moment – not sure of my sincerity. Perhaps he had read my mind – knowing that I was planning to feign an interest in his argument. That I was hoping to dupe him into dropping his guard, before I wrestled back my sword. Even so, he wanted me to believe him. I could see that clearly. There was even a tear in his eye.

  ‘I knew there was something wrong,’ he began, ‘when you told me that Maud Woodstock had been so helpful to your investigation. This didn’t sound like the woman I knew of old. That Maud Woodstock would never lift a finger to assist another person, Oswald. Certainly not a group of poor village women.’

  Maud shouted again. ‘He tried to seduce me, Oswald. That’s why he’s making up these lies. He came to me with an offer when my father suffered the apoplexy. He said that he’d persuade the Abbot to reduce my rent, if I would share his bed.’

  ‘Shut your mouth,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t want to hear another word from you.’

  ‘Did you try to seduce Maud?’ I asked, stepping forward again.

  ‘No. Of course not,’ replied Peter. ‘I’m a man of God, Oswald. A monk sworn to celibacy. But let me tell you. If I were going to take a woman to my bed, then it certainly wouldn’t be this she-devil. A woman who’s starving her maid to death and torturing her father.’

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ hissed Maud. ‘How dare you make such accusations?’

  ‘Shut up!’ said Peter.

  But Maud carried on. Her voice now shrill and desperate. ‘You’ve been to my house, Oswald. You’ve seen that there’s more than enough food for Johanna. You’ve seen that my father is loved and well cared for.’

  I advanced again. ‘I’m still not convinced,’ I told Peter. ‘This sounds like a collection of your old prejudices to me. Where’s your evidence that Maud has anything to do with the murders?’

  ‘Very well then,’ he replied. ‘If it’s evidence that you want. Ask yourself this. Why did all the missing women come from the same village?’

  ‘There could be a number of reasons.’

  ‘Maud was picking out the victims, that’s why,’ replied Peter, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at me. ‘She chose the poorest women in Stonebrook. The ones who were easiest to prey upon.’

  I could feel my temper rising. ‘Are you saying that Maud attacks women in the forest, and then dumps their bodies in a gully?’ I made sure to add a laugh to this preposterous claim.

  ‘Of course not, Oswald,’ said Peter solemnly. ‘She finds them for somebody else.’

  I swallowed my laughter. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Peter dropped the sword for a moment and looked at me with something akin to pity. ‘I see that you imagine yourself to be in love with this woman, Oswald. But you must prepare yourself to hear the truth about Maud Woodstock. She lures poor and vulnerable women here.’ He waved a hand behind him. ‘To this sordid hovel.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘God’s bones. Don’t be so naive,’ he replied. ‘She does it to please a man.’

  ‘What man?’

  Peter groaned in response to this question. ‘Your love is wasted on this woman, Oswald,’ he said. ‘Can’t you see that? She already has a lover. A man who likes to rape and kill.’

  ‘No. That’s not true,’ I stammered. ‘You’re lying. Maud would never do something like that. She’s been helping me to search for the killer.’

  ‘For the sake of Christ,’ he growled. ‘She’s been keeping her eyes on your investigation. That’s the only reason why she’s been so helpful.’ Peter paused to shake his head. ‘If you hadn’t let your cock do the thinking, then Sawyer might still be alive.’

  I felt my stomach roll again. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maud organised that meeting of the village women for you, didn’t she?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, yes,’ I mumbled.

  ‘And then she sat there, listening to what the women told you.’

  ‘Of course she did,’ I said. ‘We all did.’

  ‘It was then that she heard about Sawyer for the first time. Before that, she had no idea that somebody was scavenging items… from the bodies of the women she had helped to murder.’

  ‘Everybody at the meeting heard about Sawyer,’ I replied. ‘Not just Maud.’

  ‘But the others didn’t follow you into the forest on horseback, did they? They haven’t even got horses.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You thought it was John Roach on your tail, didn’t you? When you went to see Sawyer.’ He waved towards the door again. ‘But it wasn’t Roach. It was her. Maud Woodstock.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ I insisted.

  ‘They both ride white palfreys, Oswald.’

  I paused to take a breath. ‘This is all just invention, Peter,’ I maintained, even though my mind couldn’t help but dart back to the memory of Johanna grooming a white horse outside Maud’s house. ‘You cannot absolve yourself by throwing such wild accusations.’

  ‘Maud followed you to the charcoal pits, because she wanted to hear what Sawyer would say to you,’ said Peter. ‘Sawyer must have caught sight of her, which is why he ran away.’

  ‘But Sawyer attacked me, Brother Peter.’

  ‘No, he didn’t, Oswald. It was Maud.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘Because she didn’t want you to return straight away with a gang of men to find Sawyer. Not before she’d had time to silence him.’

  There were elements of this story that were beginning to ring true. Maud must have sensed my resolve waning, as she used this moment to start banging her feet again at the door.

  ‘I don’t know what he’s talking about, Oswald,’ she cried. ‘I only know that Peter followed us here, and then he attacked us.’

  Peter sighed. His face wearied and grey. ‘That’s not true, Oswald,’ he said. ‘Maud led Rose into the forest, don’t you see? She w
as to be their latest victim.’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Maud and Rose came here looking for Pestilence wort.’

  This idea seemed to amuse Peter. ‘They didn’t need to come this far to find such a common plant,’ he said. ‘Pestilence wort grows everywhere. Like a weed. You, of all people, should know that.’ He paused to sigh. ‘Why come to such a remote part of the forest? Unless there was another reason?’

  I couldn’t deny that this was true. Pestilence wort was a common enough plant, and now that Peter had pointed this out to me, it did seem strange that the pair had walked this far. But this argument was not damning evidence. Not everybody possessed a Benedictine monk’s knowledge of wild herbs and plants.

  ‘That doesn’t prove anything,’ I said, though I wasn’t able to completely disguise the doubt in my voice. ‘It could have been Rose’s idea to come here. Not Maud’s.’

  ‘I followed them here from Stonebrook,’ said Peter. ‘And I tell you this for nothing. It was Maud leading Rose. Not the other way around. It was Maud who suggested that Rose go inside the cottage.’

  Maud began to thump at the door again. ‘Please Oswald,’ she cried. ‘Tell me you’re not going to believe this story? Tell me that you have more sense than this? You’ve seen for yourself what this man is capable of. You carried the corpse of Agnes Wheeler back from the forest. You know that she was tied at the ankles and wrists? Just as I am now.’ She thumped at the door until the planks shook. ‘For the love of Christ, please. Let me out of here!’

  I thought back to Agnes. Her limp body. Her wet hair. The scars and the bruises, and I felt my anger return. ‘I could never understand why I frightened Agnes so much,’ I said. ‘I could never understand the bitterness of those words, Keep away from me, priest. But now I do. Agnes thought that I was you.’