Cathedral of Bones

by J G Lewis

  “What color is your daughter’s hair?”

  He pursed his lips. “Oh, blackish, I’d say. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen it.”

  The dead girl’s hair was a dark brown that might appear black to some.

  “And how tall is she?” She struggled to use the present tense. She didn’t want to confirm that his daughter was dead until she was sure.

  “Oh, about yea high.” He held his hand level just below his nose. So the girl was about Ela’s height, slightly taller than average. Robert Harwich was a big man who must have been tall before he grew old and bent.

  “And her eye color?”

  “No color really. Grayish like mine. At least like mine used to be. I don’t know what they look like now.”

  The white veil of blindness had crept over both of his eyes, obscuring their original color, but she’d seen the dead girl’s gray eyes staring up at her from the riverbank.

  She readied herself to break the news. “I believe your daughter is dead.”

  “Aye.” He shoved a hand into his matted hair. “I thought as much when they told me a body were found in the river. She’d been missing that long, and—” He trailed off and hung his head.

  “I’m so sorry.” Ela wished she could offer solace beyond mere words.

  “I suppose she fell in the river and drowned.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “The banks have been that slippery of late.”

  Ela hesitated. “Actually we have reason to believe she was dead before she entered the river.”

  “What? You think she were killed?” His big paws tightened into fists. “Why I’ll take that bastard in my bare hands and tear his head off! Blind and all, I’ll do it, just you watch me!”

  “Master Harwich, calm yourself.” The guards nearby rose and put their hands on the hilts of their swords. “Do not take justice into your own hands. That only compounds the crime. Rest assured I intend to identify your daughter’s murderer and seek justice for her.”

  “You?” Surprise temporarily smoothed his wrinkles, leaving the black lines of dirt exposed on the surface of his skin. “But you’re—”

  “A woman. Yes. I’m aware of that.” She paused to get the better of herself. There was nothing to gain by being sarcastic. “And I worked closely with my late husband on matters of justice. I have been Countess of Salisbury since my father died, and it is with that authority and the wisdom gained from my thirty-nine years on this earth that I intend to assume the role of sheriff and all its responsibilities.”

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “I’m far from being offended. I simply want to reassure you that justice will be done.”

  “I do hope so, ma’am. My own daughter! Dead!” Tears formed at the corner of his blank, staring eyes, and sorrow clutched at her heart.

  “She’s with God now, Master Harwich. She can’t suffer anymore.”

  “Lord knows she suffered enough at the hands of that bastard.”

  Ela now faced the most unpleasant task. “Would you be able to identify her—by touch, I mean? We have her body here at the castle.”

  She could swear he turned pale beneath his layers of grime. “Her body? Oh, I—” He wobbled on his feet and as she reached out to steady him, she noticed how torn and worn and soaked-through his ancient leather boots were. In fact,, all of his clothing was threadbare and inadequate to the March weather.

  “Perhaps you need to rest and gather strength first. Elspeth, please bring hot milk and some pie.” She led him to a nearby table where the soldiers sat to eat, and those there quickly rose, bowed to her and made themselves scarce.

  As the old man ate, she congratulated herself on having so much news to present to the jurors after Vespers. She now knew, with almost total certainty, the girl’s identity—Katherine Morse—and that her husband, Alan, was a violent man.

  It was odd that Katherine had no children after seven years of marriage but that she was now pregnant.

  She sat down opposite him. “I’m so sorry for the loss of your grandchild.”

  “Grandchild? I ain’t got no grandchild. Katie were my only one still living, and as I said she never had no babies.”

  So he didn’t know she was pregnant. “She was with child.”

  “What?” Crumbs fell from his open mouth. “She never said nothing. Perhaps she didn’t know yet.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Ela slowly, knowing that Katie would have been very much aware of her advanced pregnancy. Why had she not told her father about it?

  Another mystery to solve.

  “That just makes me want to kill him all the more. With my bare hands!” he growled. Harwich spread his big, callused hands flat on the table as if to demonstrate how well they were built for the task. “He killed my own grandchild! It’s enough to drive a man wild with grief.” He shook his tangled head and squeezed his sightless eyes shut.

  The sight was affecting. Ela dreaded having to place his hands on his daughter’s rapidly decomposing body. “Rest assured that justice will be served.”

  “Thank you, my lady. That’s one thing I can hold on to. If there’s anything I can do to help, I shall, though I’m not sure how much use an old blind man is to anyone. It’s all I can do to keep body and soul together in these hard times.”

  “I’ve summoned a meeting of the jurors, and we’ll bring her husband in for questioning. Is there anyone else who might have reason to kill her?”

  “Kill my Katie? Why would anyone want to kill her?”

  Ela was puzzled that no one at the riverbank had recognized the girl. Yes, she was altered by death and her time in the water, but surely if she’d grown up nearby she would be known to them. “Have you always lived in this area?”

  “Not always. Moved here nigh on nine year ago. Built the blacksmith business up from scratch just in time to go blind and find myself hanging on by my fingernails.”

  “Was Katie ever involved in your business?”

  “What? A girl in a blacksmith shop?” He emitted a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “She worked in a dairy, and that’s where she met her husband.” He hissed the last word with disgust. “He were one of the farmers served by the dairy. She’d milk his bloomin’ cows and churn butter all day long…all for a pittance, mind you. I suppose she thought she moved up in the world marrying a farmer with land and all. But I told her for nothing he was no good.”

  Once again Ela’s heart went out to the poor girl, caught between a cruel father—who had no place for her in his life or business and had sent her out to make her own living—and a brutish new husband. Ela had no choice in her husband, though fate had been merciful and given her a kind man she could love. Many women—most even—weren’t so lucky.

  “How did you know her husband before she married him?”

  “Shod his horse, didn’t I? And forged bits and bobs for his farm. Always one to dicker over price.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  His grimy face scrunched up even tighter. “Oh, I couldn’t say. Some months at least. Now I can’t shoe his horse he won’t give me the time of day.”

  “So your daughter would come alone?”

  He hesitated. “Mostly, yes. She had a heart to care about her old father even if her husband didn’t.”

  “A caring child is a blessing indeed.” She sighed. This poor old man was now blind and alone in the world with no one to care if he lived or died. She resolved to make sure he was provided with alms and assistance in a way that wouldn’t offend his pride.

  “And now she’s gone….” His words trailed off and he sat back in his chair as if bracing himself. “I’m ready to see the body now.”

  Two guards led their grim procession around the castle’s inner walls to the mortuary, where the body now lay. There, they parted the partially sewn shroud to reveal her face and placed the man’s fingers on her cheek.

  With a shaky intake of breath, he moved his big, dirty fingers around slowly
, taking in her eye sockets, her brow, her nose and her mouth. “Aye, that’s my Katie.” His gruff voice was on the verge of breaking.

  “May God give you solace and comfort,” murmured Ela.

  “For all the good they’ll do me on a cold winter’s night.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “But thank you, my lady. I appreciate your kindness.”

  “The guards will find a cart to give you a ride home.” She looked them in the eye to make sure they were paying attention. “And I’ll be in touch as the investigation progresses.”

  Ela watched as the guards escorted him out to the stable yard. What a rough old character. She closed the shroud over the poor girl’s pale, lifeless face. “Please have the shroud sewn closed. I’ll speak to the Bishop about her burial.”

  Burial was an urgent matter. The arrest could wait because a man with cows to tend wasn’t going anywhere. This body was decomposing and even now she was in an outbuilding the stench of lingering death would swirl around them until she were interred.

  It was afternoon, the pale sun already descending toward the treetops, when Ela dismounted her horse outside the newly built bishop’s palace near the grand new cathedral. She drew in a breath and called on her ancestors to give her strength. There was no love lost between her and Bishop Richard Poore.

  One guard took her horse and another rapped on the polished wood door with its new-forged iron studs. Only the best for his excellency.

  A manservant answered the door and hurried away to find his master. Ela took in the rich details of his new residence, built to replace the supposedly insalubrious conditions of the old bishop’s palace inside the castle walls. Poore had rankled for years about noise and disruption from the garrison’s soldiers. He’d complained about the poor quality and insufficiency of the water and had whined endlessly about the bracing winds felt high up on the castle mound.

  Good riddance to him, though it had pained her deeply to see the old cathedral, where her ancestors had worshipped and where the venerable Osmund himself had served, deconsecrated and dismantled so its venerable stones could form rubble in the walls of his new cathedral just a few miles away.

  The manservant returned and led them into a large chamber with new carved oak furniture. A deep-colored tapestry with a hunting scene covered one wall, and tall silver candlesticks ornamented an antique table.

  If a bishop was supposed to renounce the frivolities of worldly life—as the venerable St. Bernard of Clairvaux had proposed—then Richard Poore was doing a pretty rotten job of it.

  “My lady.” Poore swept into the room on a wave of gold brocade. His silvered hair framed the plump pink face of a man who enjoyed his victuals. “Once again, my deepest condolences on your tragic loss. I apologize that my humble service was inadequate to the occasion.”

  “Your words were and are deeply appreciated, your excellency. My grief is assuaged by the knowledge that your prayers for my husband’s soul accompany mine to heaven.”

  She hoped her insincerity didn’t show in her voice. He’d once publicly called her husband godless as part of his campaign to get the cathedral moved outside of the castle walls.

  “Your piety is a credit to you and your husband, my lady.” He took her hands and squeezed them, and she felt a trembling of forgiveness in her heart. He had prayed fervently with her husband during his last hours, and given him such comfort as could be found by a dying man in fear of his soul. He’d never attacked her personally and he was always kind to her children, even young Will, whose wayward and arrogant behavior—such as striding in late and wet for church services—were met with warm indulgence. “His memory will remain with us as long as his body lies in our blessed cathedral.”

  Ela wasn’t at all sure how her husband would feel about that. He’d bitterly opposed the cathedral being moved, seeing in it a loss of power and authority for the castle. Since he’d left explicit instructions for her to found a monastery in his memory, moving his tomb to it in future was a definite possibility. But that was a matter for another day.

  “I’m here about another untimely death, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh dear.” Poore frowned and led her toward two elegantly carved chairs. She settled herself into one and took the cup of spiced wine offered by an elderly manservant. “Did a member of the household catch your husband’s illness?”

  “My husband’s illness was not contagious.” She met his gaze, wishing she could say more. “The body of a young woman was found tangled in reeds in the Avon. Her father has identified her as Katherine Morse, the wife of a local dairy farmer. I seek permission to bury her in the churchyard.”

  He frowned. “Katherine Morse? I don’t know the name. Who is her father?”

  “Robert Harwich.” She rather hoped he didn’t know of him.

  “The old blind beggar?”

  “He is indeed blind but I believe he’s a blacksmith.”

  “He does live in the blacksmith’s shop, but I’m not aware of any smithing having occurred since I’ve lived in town.”

  “He is blind and no doubt in need of alms at his advanced stage of life.” Ela bristled.

  “Alms are certainly available to those who ask. We pride ourselves on—”

  “Pride is a sin, and no doubt his own pride prevents Master Harwich from asking for alms. He is indeed a testy character. I know nothing of his daughter except that her body lies moldering in my castle and I am in urgent need of a suitable burial place for it.”

  “I didn’t know he had a daughter.” Poore twisted his jeweled ring. “Are you sure she really is his daughter?”

  “Why would he lie?”

  Poore shrugged and something like amusement sparkled in his water-pale eyes. “Who can say? The motivations of men can be mysterious.”

  “Naturally we are pursuing the matter of her untimely death, but that doesn’t solve the question of where she’s to be buried.”

  “The paupers grave outside the castle walls seems ideal.” A large sapphire sparkled in the ring on his right hand. “Unless her family is prepared to buy a burial place.”

  “Her husband is our chief suspect, and she has no other family.”

  “That is unfortunate.” He lifted his chin. “Perhaps a wealthy benefactor—or benefactress—could intervene.” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “No doubt.” She had to admire his gall. “So if the coin could be found to pay for a quiet spot she could be buried on the cathedral grounds?”

  “The Lord is merciful.”

  “Indeed he is.” She decided to consider this progress. She’d ridden here half sure that he’d refuse the girl’s body outright.

  “And how much coin buys enough mercy for a slender shroud about five feet and five inches long?” She maintained a placid expression.

  “We are in receipt of a quote for seven pounds to create a new door for the rood screen.”

  “Seven pounds! The Lord’s mercy comes dear in New Salisbury.”

  He shrugged apologetically. “And fine workmanship, of a type to honor the memory of your good husband, is not found cheap, either.”

  “My husband was a good man.” She’d never forgotten what Poore said all those years ago.

  “He was indeed a fine fighting man and an honored friend and cohort to our crown.” He crossed himself. “God rest his soul.”

  She crossed herself, too, saying a quick prayer for all the souls in urgent need. “You broke his heart by moving the cathedral from within the castle walls.”

  He leaned forward and took her hands. His palms were ridiculously soft for a man. “My dear lady, I know it was your heart I broke, but I did it for the good of our holy brothers and the future of the holy church in Salisbury. You must admit this is a more salubrious location.”

  “I admit the supply of water is more steady, though perhaps the entire area is subject to inundation under the right circumstances.”

  “We have taken measures to ensure that all excess water flows to where it can be usefully employed, and
the cathedral itself is on a high gravel bed and will stand for a thousand years or more.”

  “God willing.” She tugged her hands back and cursed herself for wishing to see Bishop Poore’s hard work floating away on a surge. She knew her family pride was a burden that impeded her soul’s progress. “Though I’m sure you miss the fresh air high on the castle mound.”

  Now he laughed long and steady. “May I never feel my bones rattle with the morning chill like that again. You and your family are made of stern stuff, my lady.”

  “And I don’t intend for us to soften, even though we currently enjoy the luxury of peace and prosperity.” She shot a pointed glance at his gaudy ring.

  “Admirable, my lady. Your piety and devotion to your family are a beacon for us all.” Then a peppered brow lifted. “But I hear that you intend to become sheriff of Wiltshire?”

  “Why not? My husband was sheriff. I am his heir, much as I was once my father’s heir to the castle and titles that come with it.”

  “No doubt you will soon find a suitable lord to pair with.”

  Ela rankled. Why did such men assume a woman needed a man at her side? She had money and power and influence. She’d borne eight children. What did she need a man for?

  But she was not fool enough to utter such thoughts aloud.

  “In time I intend to take holy vows and retire from the world.” That should silence him. “But now my foremost duty is to my young children. I do not intend to marry again.”

  If he were to spread this rumor he’d do her a great favor. No doubt men across the south of England were already considering how they might link their fortunes with the superior ones of the Earls of Salisbury. The prospect of their endless visits, and the polite and expensive entertaining they would require, exhausted her.

  “Once again, your piety is a credit to you. But should a woman who wishes to retire behind the veil take an active part in the affairs of our cold and brutal world?”

  “If she wishes to see that world operate according to the principles of the Ten Commandments, then, yes, she should.”

  “Thou shalt not kill,” he mused. “And if thou hast, then thou should be swiftly brought to justice and punished according to the laws of the land.”