An Ensuing Evil and Others

by Peter Tremayne

  But now Malcolm Mac Bodhe, too, was dead; lying on the floor of his bedchamber in MacBeth’s castle. Murdered.

  The young king appeared troubled as he stood regarding his tearful wife, who stood, leaning against the doorjamb, her breast heaving, a hand across her trembling mouth.

  “There will be many who will blame me for this death, my lady,” MacBeth addressed the grief-stricken young woman quietly. He held out a hand to comfort her.

  She took it and gave a single heartrending sob, trying, at the same time, to gain control over her feelings. The years of threatening danger had taught her to suppress her emotions until she could indulge in them without distraction.

  “How so, my lord?” she asked, succeeding in the effort.

  “They will say that I have killed, or had killed, your brother, in order to secure my place nearer the throne at Sgain.”

  The woman’s eyes widened, and she shook her head vehemently. “I will swear that you never left my side since we parted from my brother after the meal last night.”

  “Can you so swear?”

  “Aye, I can, for I have not closed my eyes these last hours. You know well that I am still beset by nightmares and have visions of our being burnt while we slept, as happened to my… as happened to Gillecomgain, your cousin. I heard Garban come into our chamber and ask you to follow him here-that is why I came after you to see what was amiss.”

  “They will say that your witness for me is what might be expected of a wife or that you had good cause to see your brother dead so that your husband could claim the throne that you might sit by his side as queen at Sgain. Indeed, some might even say that, while I slept, you did the deed yourself for ambitions sake.”

  The Lady Gruoch paled as she stared at him. “What fiendlike creature will people have me be?” she whispered in shock. “To kill my own brother? Even to think such a thought is to pronounce speculations hateful to the ears of any justice.”

  “It may be said just the same,” pointed out MacBeth impassively. “Many things are said and done in the court of my grandfather at Sgain. I do not doubt that the vaulting ambition of my cousin Duncan, the son of my mothers own sister, will do more than make hateful speculations to secure the throne. His father, the unnatural abbot of Dunkeld, even tries to poison the entire Church against anyone who stands as rival to the resolution of his son to secure the throne.”

  “I fear that it is so,” sighed Gruoch. “I have long labored, as you know, in the belief that the destruction of Gillecomgain was brought about by your grandfather, who encouraged the rumors which laid the deed at your door.”

  MacBeth lowered his head. It was true that rumors still circulated accusing him of Gillecomgain’s death. “There will be more whispers yet,” he agreed heavily, “unless we speedily resolve this unnatural death of your brother.”

  A tall elderly man stood at the door. It was clear that he had just come from a deep sleep. His hair was a little disheveled, and his clothes had not been put on with care.

  “Garban has informed me of these tragic events, noble lord,” the man muttered, his eyes moving swiftly from MacBeth to Gruoch and to the body on the floor. They glinted coldly in the candlelight and seemed to miss nothing.

  “I am glad that you have come, Cothromanach. It needs your skilled touch here, for I was saying to the Lady Gruoch, there are many who will wish to taint me with this killing. Your word is needed that this matter has been properly conducted and resolved so that none may level any accusation against me.”

  Cothromanach, the brehon, set his face stonily. “The truth is the truth. I am here to serve that truth, my lord.”

  MacBeth nodded. “Indeed, let us proceed with logic. Garban has told you that we have a witness to this deed in the prince Malcolm’s servant?”

  Cothromanach nodded. “I am told that he has been sent for.”

  “He has. The Lady Gruoch and I were in our bedchamber until Garban summoned me. The Lady Gruoch says that she is prepared to state that I did not rouse from our bed all night. I have told her that her testimony might be dismissed on grounds of her relationship to me.”

  The brehon pursed his lips wryly. “Madam, is there any other witness that will say that you and your husband did not stir until Garban summoned your husband here?”

  Gruoch thought a moment and then nodded in affirmation. “Little more than an hour ago, I asked my maid Margreg to bring me mulled wine to help me sleep. She entered our chamber with the wine while my husband slept on obliviously.”

  MacBeth raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I did not hear her.”

  “You were tired, my lord, after yesterdays hunt and last nights feasting.”

  “This is true. So Margreg brought wine and saw me sound asleep beside you? This, you say, was but an hour ago?”

  “It was so.”

  MacBeth turned to the brehon. “And I was roused to come here but a quarter of the hour past, and if the deed were committed not long before, it would mean that we have the best witness yet in the maid.”

  “What makes you think the deed was done but an hour ago?” queried the brehon.

  “Easy to tell. We have a witness to the deed.” He turned to his wife to explain. “I have sent for your brother’s servant, who, it appears, was attacked by the assassin. He has already indicated the time to my steward, Garban.”

  The Lady Gruoch stared at him in surprise. “This servant was attacked by the assassin? Then we have no need fear our innocence of the deed.”

  MacBeth sighed: “Perhaps,” he said softly. “Truth does not still malicious tongues.”

  “You sound defensive, lord,” observed the brehon. “As if you already stand accused and found guilty.”

  “It is why I want you to examine this matter closely, Cothromanach. I fear it may be so unless I demonstrate that I had no hand in this. Now, here comes Garban and Malcolm’s servant. Do return to our chamber, my lady, and dress yourself, for it is near dawn and this may be a long day.” He paused and turned to Cothromanach. “That is, unless you wish the lady to stay?”

  The elderly brehon shook his head. “I have no objections to the Lady Gruoch withdrawing.”

  As Gruoch left the chamber with a single glance back to where her brothers body lay, old Garban came forward. Behind him followed a younger man, tall and well built. There was a gash over his eye that still seeped blood. His face was pale, and he walked with an unsteady gait. He stood hesitating before MacBeth, looking from him to the brehon.

  Old Garban gave him a gentle nudge forward.

  “Tell my noble lord your name, boy.”

  The young man took a pace forward. “I am called Segan, noble lord,” he muttered, his eyes downcast.

  “How long have you been in the service of the prince Malcolm?”

  “I have served him ever since I can remember, and my father before me was a steward in the house of his father, the prince Bodhe.”

  “Then this will not take long, Segan. Tell us the circumstances in which you received this blow to your head and how you discovered the prince?”

  “Little to tell, indeed, noble lord. Prince Malcolm had retired after the feasting last evening and went straightaway to his bed. He told me that he would not want me until the morning. So I, too, went to my bed-”

  “Which is where?” Cothromanach, the brehon, suddenly interrupted.

  “In that small chamber opposite,” the young man indicated through the open door.

  Garban, the steward, intervened with a clearing of his throat. “I placed the servant there so that he might be near his master in case of need,” he explained to the brehon.

  “What then?” MacBeth did not wait for the brehon to acknowledge the explanation.

  “I fell asleep. I do not know what time I was awakened nor what had awakened me. Perhaps it was the sound of something falling to the ground. I roused myself and listened. All was quiet. I went to my door and opened it. I thought that I heard a sound from Prince Malcolm’s room.

  “
Wondering if anything was amiss, I went to his door and called softly. There was no answer. I was just about to turn back into my chamber when I heard a distinct sound from this room. I called Prince Malcolm’s name and asked if he needed anything.

  “There was no response, and so I tried the chamber door. It was secured.”

  “Secured?” interposed Cothromanach quickly.

  “It was Prince Malcolm’s custom to secure the door to his bedchamber from the inside.” The young servant hesitated and dropped his gaze. “These are troubled and dangerous times, lord. There are many who would not weep over Prince Malcolm’s death.”

  “Go on,” the brehon instructed.

  “I called again. Then I heard the bolt being withdrawn. I tried the handle and this time the chamber door swung open. I took a step inside and saw the prince even as you see him now, lying on the floor there. The blood on his shirt and the knife at his side.”

  MacBeth glanced toward the brehon and saw his puzzled gaze. He preempted the question. “You saw Malcolm lying there and saw all this clearly? How so?”

  “How so?” repeated the young man in a puzzled tone, not understanding what he meant.

  “Was the room not in darkness?”

  “Ah.” Segan shook his head. “No, there was a candle alight by the bedside, even as it is now.”

  MacBeth turned to examine the candle and saw that scarcely a half-inch of tallow was left flickering in its holder. Satisfied, MacBeth turned back in time to see the young man wince and stagger a little.

  “Are you hurt?” intervened the brehon anxiously.

  “I am a little dizzy still. Yet I rebuke my own stupidity,” lamented the young man. “I cannot believe that I could be such a dimwit. Seeing the body, I took two steps toward it, and then something hit me from behind. Now I realize, whoever had drawn the bolt still stood behind the door, and who would it be but the assassin? I came in, like a lamb to the slaughter, and thus he could strike me down from behind.”

  Old Garban nodded in support. “It could happen to anyone, seeing their lord dead. It was a natural error. No blame to the young man.”

  MacBeth nodded absently, but Cothromanach was examining the young man with his sharp eyes. “Yes. It was an action not governed by thought. So you say that you were struck from behind? What then?”

  The young man frowned at the elderly man. “Then?”

  “Yes, what happened then?” pressed Cothromanach.

  “I must have fallen unconscious to the floor, for the next thing I knew, I came to with blood on my head and a throbbing which was more agonizing than anything I can remember. I was lying just there.” He pointed downward. “Then I remembered the prince and raised myself. It was obvious that he was dead. I turned, the door was closed and no one else in the room. I left the chamber and went in search of Garban. I roused him and he came here. He then sent me to his wife to clean my wound while he went to tell you of this news.”

  Garban now intervened once more in support. “This is true. The young man roused me, and I put on my clothes and hurried here while my wife tended to his wound, which was bleeding more profusely than it is now. Having ascertained what Segan had said was true, I felt I should come to rouse Lord MacBeth. The rest is as he knows.”

  MacBeth turned to Cothromanach. “Indeed. I immediately followed Garban here. My wife followed moments later. That was when I sent Garban to you and asked him to bring Segan back here.”

  The brehon stood, head bowed in thought for a moment. “How long, Garban, do you estimate the time between you being roused by Segan and you rousing the lord MacBeth?”

  The old man held his head to one side and thought. “Scarce five to ten minutes, Cothromanach.”

  “And you, Segan, is there any way you can estimate the time you lay unconscious?”

  “Not long, I think. It may have been a matter of minutes.”

  “What makes you say so?”

  “The candle. I said it was burning when I entered. It had not burnt down too much when I regained consciousness. And, even now, you can see it still flickering there.”

  MacBeth went toward the table to examine the candle, noting the spilled grease on the table and the floor. He bent down and picked up a stub of tallow and frowned in annoyance at Garban. “These chambers should be better cleaned,” he snapped, throwing the tallow at his steward, who caught it and began to apologize.

  Cothromanach hid his impatience. “It is not the time to discuss the dilatory habits of the servants, noble lord.”

  MacBeth looked guilty and turned back to Segan. “So the chamber was well lit? Did you get any impression of your assailant?”

  Segan looked puzzled. “Impression. I did not see him at all.”

  “Yet you are certain that it was a male?”

  Segan was now entirely bewildered.

  “If you did not see who struck the blow,” explained MacBeth patiently, “how can you tell it was a man?”

  In spite of himself, Segan raised a laugh. “I cannot imagine a woman delivering the blow that would have laid me low, noble lord.”

  “Perhaps not,” agreed MacBeth. He turned to the brehon and saw the man still examining Segan’s features thoughtfully. MacBeth turned back to Segan and suddenly realized what puzzled the brehon. “But there is a question that intrigues me. You say that you were struck from behind?”

  “Yes, noble lord. Had it been from the front, I would have seen my assailant,” he added patiently.

  “Quite so. Then how is it that your wound is on your forehead and not on the back of the head?”

  Segans eyes widened, and he raised his hand automatically to his forehead as if to touch the gash that was there. “I was struck from behind, noble lord,” he insisted. “I feel the hurt there even now. So that I know as a fact. Perhaps, as I fell, I also struck my forehead.”

  “There is no other explanation,” agreed the brehon quietly. “There is too much of Malcolm’s blood on the floor to see where you might have fallen. Well, there is little more we can discover from this young man, I think.”

  “I have no further questions, Segan. I suggest Garban take you back to his wife to have your wound examined further. It looks a bad gash, and a bruise surrounds it.”

  “I would rather lie down a few moments, lord,” said Segan, but Garban took his arm with a firm grasp and smiled.

  “Plenty of time after my wife has made a poultice for that cut and bruise.”

  Alone in the room, MacBeth turned to the brehon. “What do you think?”

  Cothromanach shrugged. “Little to think about, noble lord. There are few facts at our disposal to make any clear deductions.”

  “The facts seem that the killer gained entrance to this chamber and stabbed Prince Malcolm. The body falling to the floor must have alerted his servant, Segan, who came to the door. The killer had secured the door but, hearing Segan call out, realized that if he remained locked without, he would raise the alarm and the assassin would not be able to escape. So he slid the bolt and waited behind the door.”

  Cothromanach smiled. “I cannot fault your logic, noble lord.”

  MacBeth continued, warming to the theme. “Standing behind the door, the assassin waited as the young man opened the door. The killer relied on the fact that the young man would react at the sight of Malcolm lying in his bloodstained shirt on the floor; he knew that the servant would take an involuntary step forward into the room. That was when the blow was struck. Then the killer left the room.”

  “Again, the logic is without a fault.”

  MacBeth smiled thinly. “If nothing else, I answer to logic,” he replied complacently.

  “Very well, my lord. Let us turn logic to the following matters. Firstly, let us regard the body of the prince.”

  MacBeth looked down, his face wrinkled in distaste. “What can we learn from it except that the killer stabbed the prince in the back?”

  “That he did so presents us with an important question that needs a resolution.”

&n
bsp; “How so?”

  “We have heard that the prince was in fear of his life for the reasons well known to you, noble lord. He slept at night with his door bolted from the interior. How, then, when his assassin came to his chamber, did he gain entrance?”

  MacBeth raised his eyebrows and turned to examine the door. The bolt was in place, and there was no sign of any undue violence being used against the lock. He did not have to go to the small window in the chamber, for he knew that it was a long drop into a rocky ravine through which a river meandered. There was no way anyone would climb in through that window. He would take an oath on it.

  “If-” He paused and framed his words slowly. “-if the door was bolted, then Malcolm himself must have let his killer into the chamber.”

  Cothromanach made a gesture of approval. “In order to do that, the prince Malcolm must have known his assassin. He must have known him well enough to have trusted him, to have let him into his bedchamber while not yet dressed and-”

  MacBeth interrupted, for now he saw what the elderly brehon was getting at. “He must have trusted him to be able to have turned his back on him, for the two stab wounds are in the back. The killer, as Malcolm turned away from him, stabbed him twice.”

  “Then dropped the knife and was turning to go-”

  “When he was interrupted by Segan?”

  “Perhaps,” the brehon said. “Yet what would be the motive for such a deed?”

  “Surely the motive is obvious? Malcolm was a popular candidate for the High Kingship. The likely motive was to eliminate him.”

  “So we are saying that whoever did this deed was a servant of Duncan who aspires to the throne?”

  MacBeth nodded and then grimaced. “You are forgetting my claim, for with the prince Malcolm gone, I am now the head of the House of Moray and challenger to the kingship at Sgain.”

  Cothromanach smiled briefly. “I have not forgotten. Nor have I forgotten that you are not the only one who stands to gain.”

  MacBeth frowned. “Who?”

  “The Lady Gruoch would benefit by your elevation to the kingship.”

  For a moment MacBeth stood in anger, but then he shrugged as if in acceptance. “You mean more than she would have done had her brother gained the throne?”