‘I’ll do what I can to think of reasons, if you like,“ Daved offered. ”It won’t be easy. In the meanwhile, I want to see the friar’s body.“
‘Daved!“ she exclaimed, but he had already started away from her, and without any quick reason that would stop him, she followed him. In the hall two maidservants were setting out bread and cheese for breakfast on a trestle table. They looked a little confused at seeing him and one of them even a little frightened, which meant something was being said through the household over what had happened yesterday, but when Daved paused to ask them, ”Do you know where they’ve put the dead friar?“, one of the women answered readily enough, ”In the cellar, master.“
As Daved went on, the other said, protesting, “Master Grene said you were staying in the solar.”
Daved threw her a smile over his shoulder, said cheerily, “But as you see, I’m not,” and was out of the hall.
Avoiding their eyes and any question they might have asked her, Anne kept after him. There were two sets of stairs at the rear end of the screens passage. One led down to the kitchen and the rearyard, the other to the cellar under the hall. Because goods of his own were sometimes stored in the cellar, Daved did not need to ask the way, or even to pause at the heavy door since it stood open to the wide, deeply shadowed cellar stairs. Daved took them without hesitation, but Anne had never been this way and went more slowly, holding to the rope strung along the wall for railing, until she turned the stairs’ corner and found herself nearly at their bottom, with enough candlelight ahead of her to show her way better despite the sweep of Daved’s shadow back at her, large among the close-set stone pillars holding up the beams of the hall floor too near above her head. Crowded farther off in the shadows were thicker darknesses that would be the stacked bales of cloth and chests of other goods stored here for safety, but the candlelight was straight ahead, spread out from several fat tallow candles set on prickets thrust out from stone pillars, lighting a square between four of the pillars where Brother Michael’s body must be.
Father Tomas’ shadow met Daved’s as the priest hurried toward Daved from the candlelight. Anne saw him take hold of Daved’s arm as they met just beyond the stairfoot but missed whatever Father Tomas first said and what Daved answered him, only reaching the bottom of the stairs in time to hear the priest say, his voice low and shaking, “No. Now. Get away while you can. You have to flee now. Brother Michael is not the only one who saw too much. All one of Grene’s men has to do is talk of your tallit, not even knowing what it is, with the wrong ears to hear it…”
‘It will be as God wills,“ Daved said steadily.
‘If you’re taken, you’ll be tortured. The Church can do it. They’ll have everything from you.“ Father Tomas’ fear was painful to see and all too nakedly as much for himself as Daved. ”Everything. And then…“
‘What of you?“ Daved asked. ”More people heard what you told Brother Michael about yourself than ever heard his accusation of me.“
Father Tomas stopped short, staring, before he said, his voice still low but suddenly steady, “I’m a Christian priest. I will not be otherwise. Here is where I belong.”
‘And here is where / must presently be,“ said Daved and went on.
Anne followed him past Father Tomas, briefly touching the priest’s arm in sympathy but felt him trembling and moved the more quickly after Daved, afraid Father Tomas’ fear would only make her own fear stronger.
A piece of rough canvas had been laid on the stone floor for Brother Michael’s body, but he was laid out on it as if on a proper bier, his robe straight around him, his wooden cross on his chest with his hands resting on it. His mouth was closed now, as well as his eyes. Closed once and for all but not soon enough, Anne thought viciously. And was appalled at herself an instant later and crossed herself but was forestalled from any prayer by surprise at seeing Dame Frevisse there, standing beyond the corpse, nearly invisible against the darkness behind her until she lifted her head and her white wimple and pale face showed in the candlelight.
Her long-faced Master Naylor was there, too, a few paces aside and looking no happier than he had in the solar. Anne was uncertain how much danger to Daved he might be, but she trusted him less than she did the nun. And did not trust her very much.
Now fully into the candlelight, Daved stopped, and over the corpse he and Dame Frevisse regarded each other a moment, before she said, “Have you come to pray for his soul?”
‘My faith does not require me to love my enemies,“ Daved answered. ”I’m willing to leave to God where his soul should go.“
‘This man’s soul went before its time.“
‘Can someone die before God wills it?“
‘Does God will murder?“
Daved spread out his hands, palms upward. “Who understands the will of God?”
The smallest of possible smiles touched the corners of Dame Frevisse’s mouth. “A point well made. Though I believe the Commandment says ‘You shall not slay wrongfully.’ It would seem that makes clear enough God’s will in the matter.”
‘Therefore, let us hope he also wills that we learn soon who this particular murderer is.“
Dame Frevisse went suddenly still, looking at Daved as if he and she had become the only people there, until finally she said, quite quietly, “Is that something you truly want?”
‘Why shouldn’t I?“ Daved returned.
‘Why should you? He would have brought about your death. Instead, he’s dead. That could easily be enough for you. What does it matter to you who killed him?“
‘He would have brought about my death, yes.“ Black, unexpected laughter glinted in Daved’s voice. ”Wrongfully, to my way of seeing it. Instead, he’s dead, but also wrongfully. Therefore, if I thought ill of myself being wrongfully killed, must I not, by the bonds of logic and despite whatever else I thought or felt toward him, also think ill of his death, it being likewise wrongful?“
‘By the bonds of logic, yes,“ Dame Frevisse granted.
‘There, then. All your questions are answered.“
The wry set of the nun’s mouth suggested they were not, even before she said, “Let us say some of my questions are answered. But to go back to where we began, if you’ve not come to pray for his soul, why are you here?”
‘To find out his murderer,“ Daved said. ”Lest I live under the suspicion of his death hereafter.“
Anne, from where she stood slightly behind him, saw Dame Frevisse’s gaze slide sideways to her in a brief, assessing look that made Anne want to grab Daved by the arm and tell him this wasn’t something he had to do for her, that she would rather he hazard escape than chance staying here to prove something of which she was already sure.
Only the certainty that her words would make no difference held her silent, as with again that flickering of black laughter Daved went on, “At least the corpse is not bleeding in my presence. That’s to the good, isn’t it?”
‘Only if you believe dead bodies are so obliging as to bleed anew in the presence of their murderer,“ Dame Frevisse returned.
‘You don’t?“
‘I’ve never seen it happen.“
‘You’ve had much to do with murdered bodies?“
‘Yes.“
The flatness of her answer stopped Daved. Then he asked seriously, “Have you?”
‘Yes,“ she said again; and then, matching his challenge, ’Have you?”
Quietly Daved said, “Yes.”
The nun seemed unsurprised by that. “Then what do you make of this?” she said and knelt down. Daved went to kneel beside her. Unlike Father Tomas who had come silently to kneel at Brother Michael’s feet with his head bent in prayer, there was no sign of prayer in Daved and Dame Frevisse’s kneeling. Instead, Dame Frevisse took Brother Michael’s head between her hands and lifted it, saying, “Feel the back of it.”
Anne, able neither to pray nor look away, watched Daved do so, his face set. When he withdrew his hand, Dame Frevisse gently lowered the h
ead to the cloth and asked, “Well?”
‘He was struck there,“ Daved said slowly. ”He was clubbed from behind.“ And even more slowly, ”As Hal was.“
‘Yes,“ Dame Frevisse said. ”Struck down and afterward stabbed to death. Like the boy.“
And Anne was suddenly aware of how much this was how it had been in St. Swithin’s crypt—the crowding darkness, the body laid out…
‘Then maybe, as we think with Hal,“ said Daved, ”he was struck down somewhere else and carried outside the gate and then stabbed. But the gate was guarded.“
‘Which could mean either Raulyn or Pers had been part in it,“ Dame Frevisse said.
Anne put in hurriedly, “Raulyn was twice away from the gate. Once of necessity, once to rouse Pers back to his post. Pers could have been away, too. For necessity. Like Raulyn.”
‘How was that?“ Daved asked.
Dame Frevisse made explanation, ending, “But it’s trusting heavily to happenstance for the murderer to have happened on any such time to reach the gate.”
‘Not if he had seen Raulyn take Pers’ place,“ Daved said. ”He could within reason assume Raulyn would sometime go to fetch Pers back to duty, leaving the gate unguarded for that while.“
‘And in readiness for that, lured the friar from the solar, struck him unconscious…“
‘So there would be no blood in the house to show it was done there.“
‘Then waited, hidden somewhere with the unconscious body, until Master Grene left the gate, carried the friar to the gate and out, laid him down, stabbed him, slipped back inside the yard and to the house, all without being seen, in the time it took Master Grene to waken Pers and come into the yard again.“ Dame Frevisse’s voice was gone dry with her deep doubt of all that.
‘And he would maybe have had to set the body down to open the gate, too,“ Daved said, matching her doubt. ”One thing, though—we’re only supposing it was someone already here who did it, rather than someone from outside.“
‘You think someone came in? How? Over the rooftops?“
‘Or over the wall. It’s not beyond possibility for someone moving carefully and keeping low to come over a wall in darkness unseen and move silently through shadows.“
‘You speak as someone who knows,“ Dame Frevisse said.
Daved did not answer except to meet her sharp look and slightly smile. After a moment she gave him a narrow smile back, and with a start, Anne saw they were both enjoying their sharp trade of thoughts. And likewise saw that however far apart their lives were in most ways, here in this quest they were met on ground they both knew.
‘So,“ Dame Frevisse said, ”you’re saying we now have to think that maybe someone came from outside, wanting the friar dead and knowing the house well enough to find him.“ She did not sound as if she thought that very likely.
‘Finding him would be none so hard,“ Daved said. ”He could likely be heard talking by anyone who chose to hear, either through the window or the door. And, yes, I see my uncle is to be suspected here.“
‘I take it, though,“ Dame Frevisse said, ”from what you’t say upstairs, that Brother Michael made no exclamation of surprise when he saw whoever was at the solar’s door. Which means that whoever was there was someone he could reasonably expect to be there.“
‘One other thing,“ Daved said. ”We’ve supposed that whoever put him outside the gate came back inside. They may not have. Is someone missing from here today? But,“ he added before she could answer that, ”if they were going to leave anyway and thereby announce their guilt, why bother with killing him outside when they could have done it with less trouble inside? Thus, his murderer is most likely still here.“
‘Except we’ve also been supposing that Brother Michael was carried out the gate,“ Dame Frevisse said. ”He could have been persuaded to go out, then struck down, then stabbed.“
‘Again, though,“ Daved said, ”we come up against it having to be done when no one was be at the gate.“
‘That, yes.“
They both fell silent. Overhead, feet were passing—people going back and forth as breakfast happened. Somewhere was daylight, the beginning of another day of near-siege and worry, and Anne wished she were there, with things no worse than they had been yesterday, instead of here in the shadows with new death in front of her and fear for Daved wrapping ever more closely around her.
‘I’d like,“ said Daved, ”to see the wound that killed him.“
‘It’s in his back,“ Dame Frevisse answered, raising a hand to gesture Master Naylor forward.
Father Tomas raised his head. “You aren’t going to strip him, are you? Not here, like this.”
‘No,“ Daved said quietingly. ”I only want to see where the wound is placed. Has anyone done that?“
‘Not yet,“ Dame Frevisse said. She had slipped the cross from under Brother Michael’s hands and now stepped back w give Master Naylor and Daved space to ease Brother Michael’s body over. Anne took one of the candles from its pricket and brought it where the light would fall better on the friar’s back, taking care to keep from looking straight at him herself. Daved crouched down to him, though, and Dame Frevisse bent forward readily, and Daved said, ”He was stabbed more than once.“ And after pause, ”Four times. You see?“
‘Four times,“ Dame Frevisse agreed. ”Yes.“
‘None straight to the heart,“ Daved said. ”But together enough to do the work.“
‘Master Naylor,“ Dame Frevisse said, looking up at him. ”Would you, now that there’s light enough and hopefully before too many people have passed, go see how much blood there is on the paving outside the gate? Let’s be more certain that’s where he was actually killed.“
‘Because if it was not,“ Daved said, ”then somewhere there is likely a quantity of blood besides what’s soaked into his robe, and that might tell us something.“
Master Naylor gave a slight, curt bow and left. Daved started to roll the body onto its back again, but Dame Frevisse caught at the dead right hand, said, “Wait,” and held it into the candlelight to see it better.
‘What?“ Daved asked. Both he and Father Tomas shifted to look, too.
‘His fingers,“ Dame Frevisse said. ”There’s blood on them.“
‘Blood?“ Daved said, puzzled. ”His own?“
‘Lay him on his back again,“ Father Tomas said, suddenly firm with command. Daved did, and the priest took the candle from Anne and held it so the light fell full on Brother Michael’s face. ”There,“ said Father Tomas. ”On his forehead. He signed himself with the cross there.“
Even Anne leaned nearer to see. Because the body should not be washed until the crowner or at least a constable had seen it, there was still street-dirt on the friar’s face and so the cross was not readily seen, but it was there on his brow, small and uneven and undeniably in blood, darkened though it was by now.
Very softly Dame Frevisse said, “He came enough to his senses to grope at the pain in his back. Enough to know he was dying.”
‘But why didn’t he cry out?“ Father Tomas said. ”Even dying, why didn’t he cry out for help?“
‘He was stabbed at least twice into his lungs,“ Daved said grimly. ”They were probably filling with blood. He could make no cry that would be heard.“
‘All he could do,“ Dame Frevisse said, ”struggling to breathe and guessing he was dying, was sign himself with the cross. In hope of his soul’s salvation.“
Father Tomas turned to put the candle back on its pricket. In the shifting light, Dame Frevisse laid Brother Michael’s wooden cross on his chest again, was laying his hands over it when Daved said quietly, “It was not a skilled killing.”
Dame Frevisse paused, then lifted her head to meet his gaze and said as quietly, “No more than was Hal’s.”
In the deeper quiet that followed, they went on looking at each other, nothing alike in any outward seeming, but at that moment looking very alike in the way their thoughts were running fast behind their eyes
.
Never had Anne felt further from Daved. How did he come to know so much of stealth and wounds and killing? She’d known she knew only a little of his life. Was maybe what she knew not merely little but the very least part? And was she the least part of the least part? How very, very little part she was in his life at all?
Chapter 22
More aware of the cellar’s darkness all around her than she had been, Frevisse lowered her gaze from Daved’s, back to the friar’s body. She had learned all she was likely to learn from it. It was only another darkness now, like the darkness of the cellar, the life put out the way the candles’ light would, in a while, be put out. With the difference that the candles could be relighted when they were next needed, but there was no use left to Brother Michael’s body. It was only dross and waste, to be buried before its decay became an offense.
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