by Jane Adams
Rozlyn nodded. “So, you’re saying . . . you’re speculating that his killer stabbed him then when he tried to pull the thing out, he only got the wooden handle. So, he, maybe, tried to get it out by hand . . .”
“And the rocking motion of either attempt would have notched the sternum for a second time, yes.”
“So, it would have made sense to leave it in place until the body had been dumped.” She frowned. “What I don’t get is, if you go to the trouble of stealing an object like this, then to the further trouble of pulling it out of the wound, why chuck it away?”
“Why indeed? Sorry, I can’t help you there. People, as you know, do some strange things under stress. It could be that the assailant suddenly realised how unique this is and that it could be identified.”
“Then why dump it where it’s sure to be found? No, that doesn’t work.” She considered for a moment. “So. How much blood?”
“No exit wound,” Chitall told her, “so very little mess. The weapon itself would have plugged the hole, so to speak.”
“So,” Rozlyn was thinking aloud now. “At the murder scene, there’d have been very little cleaning up to do.”
“Trace, of course, but if you’re looking for puddles of blood you’ll be unlucky.” He went over to Charlie’s body and withdrew the spearhead. Rozlyn winced. “I’ll give it a wash for you and you’ll have to sign the book. Where are you taking it anyway?”
“To show a man called Ethan Merrill in Stamford. He’s an expert.” She winced again as Chitall cleaned the object down with soap and a nail brush. She wasn’t sure what the procedure was for cleaning ancient weaponry but was pretty sure that wasn’t it.
“Don’t worry,” Chitall told her, misinterpreting her reaction. “I’m not destroying evidence. We’ve got everything we can from the little beauty.”
Beauty, Rozlyn thought as Chitall dried it with paper towels and stuffed it into a plastic bag. She felt the weight of it in her hands as Chitall handed it to her and looked closely at the intricate patterns weaving across the surface. Yes, she supposed it was beautiful. Exquisite and deadly . . . and now smelling of anti-bacterial hand cleaner. Ethan Merrill would have a fit.
“Ok, then, thanks,” she said. Steeling herself, she went back to stand beside Charlie’s corpse and gently, touched the dead man’s hand.
“I’ll take good care of your friend,” Chitall said. “Any idea who’ll be claiming the body or is it a social security job?”
Rozlyn hadn’t thought about it. She shook her head. “I really don’t know,” she said. “Just hold fire until you hear from me, OK?”
Chitall shrugged once more. Left shoulder slightly higher than right this time. “Plenty of room at the inn,” he said. She left, thinking that Mouse would want to come to the funeral and Mrs Chinowski and maybe that old man at the Larks too, if they thought he was OK to go out . . . and Mrs C would need a new cleaner now Clara had disappeared and . . .
Laughing, Rozlyn shook her head, reminding herself that these people were not her responsibility. She could inform social services and let them take over.
The laugher died almost before it reached her lips and she glanced back towards the building where Charlie’s body now lay. “It’s OK,” she told him softly. “I’ll see they’re taken care of. Promise.”
CHAPTER 21
Treven sat close to the doorway and watched as Kendryk read through the documents his scribe handed to him. They appeared to be deeds of land; bequests left to the Abbey and features of land, left idle after too many battles, that Kendryk had adjoined to Abbey lands. It was not lost on Treven that he had applied for the same rights over his land at Theadingford and been denied.
Was Kendryk making a point? Treven was unsure but listening to the quiet conversation between Kendryk and his scribe, Treven was struck by the man’s knowledge of the district and his understanding of land use. His questions were detailed and precise and twice now Treven had noted that sharp look when his scribe failed to give an adequate response and had seen the man quail beneath it.
“That land floods come winter. Come Blotmonath it is beneath water, often until the time of Eastermonath. Should Nerian be sincere in his desire to gift, then he should gift land that can be of use.”
“Should I return his promise to him?” the scribe asked.
Kendryk considered the matter. “No,” he said. “Amend the promise. Tell him that I accept his gift to Christ of fertile land, and of the labour required to dig drainage. We can use it then for winter grazing.”
Treven chuckled softly, wondering if he should feel pity for the unfortunate Nerian or if such punishment was deserved.
“And this, the land named as belonging to Renweard. The man stood surety for his brother?”
The scribe nodded. “His brother was accused of theft. Renweard stood as surety until he should repay the amount claimed.”
“As I recall, the theft was in question. Some said it was a debt from gambling.”
“That was said, but Renweard held that it should be paid if owed, despite it being owed to one, Odi, known to have default of character. The brother has now fled, leaving Renweard with both debt and his brother’s son to raise. He had appealed to Odi for time to pay, but Odi will have none of it. The Shire Courts have sent the matter to you, Lord Abbot, as the original surety was witnessed by the Abbey.”
“Then my judgement is this,” Kendryk said. “That the land thus indebted should be created Fosterlean, property held in trust, and given back to Redweard in return for the raising of his brother’s child. On Redweard’s death it shall be counted Mortmain, Dead Man’s Land and given to the child in full. Should any child remain of Odi’s line, then a tithe should be paid to them until the debt is serviced — and be sure it is noted what this comprises, we will suffer no arguments at some later date. This way, the debt will be honoured but the innocent should have no need to suffer for another’s fault.”
He got up from his chair and strode towards the flagon of small beer set out on the chest beside Cate’s baskets of yarn.
“That will do for now. Have that written, then return to me with the scrip. If I am satisfied, you can have the copies made.”
The other bowed his head and left. The hall was now empty of all but Treven and Kendryk.
“You are an unusual man,” Treven noted.
“Unusual for a churchman or just unusual?”
“Both, I would say.”
Kendryk drank deep and refreshed Treven’s cup before refilling his own. “The day trails towards dusk,” he commented. “I think it time to change to stronger ale.”
He went to the steps and gave an order to one outside. “It is time for food, also,” he said. “A man cannot think well on an empty stomach.”
“What happens when you fast?” Treven asked. “Do your thoughts fail you then?”
“My thoughts,” Kendryk told him, “never fail me. Others are not so fortunate. Most men require a nourished body to think clearly and it is not my belief that God wished any man to starve.” This last was said softly and with a feeling that had nothing, Treven felt, to do with the present conversation.
“And now,” Kendryk settled himself in the throne-like chair once more. “How are we to resolve this? You have spent the afternoon in thought, what conclusions have you come to?”
“That there was another reason for Eldred wishing Cate dead, once her sister was gone.”
“The land,” Kendryk confirmed. “He and Edmund will inherit, of course. Add this estate to their own, such as it is.”
“Tell me.”
“The land the brothers own is fertile but takes more skill at management than either of them has. In these past years much more has been brought under cultivation, but that was Allis’s doing. She divided it into small parcels, a hide or so in each and set cottagers to live thereon and work the land. They pay their tithe, but thereafter, for the most part, need little from their lord in order to survive which, as you must know, takes strain from
the shoulders in lean times. Wisely, she has set the tithe in terms of labour. The ditches she had dug have drained the fields and brought more into use and at the eastern end of their property, she had planted hedge and tree to break the wind from the fenlands. You remember, I am sure, how the North wind strikes cold when it blows across the water. We feel its force even this far inland.”
“And how did the brothers react to this management?”
“Edmund was wise enough to welcome it. The mother, Allis and Cate’s mother, was a woman of great wisdom and immense strength of will. She raised her children in the same mould, though little Cate was not by nature like to her mother and sister. She favoured the father, may the good Lord bless him.”
“And Eldred, did he take this calmly?”
“Eldred rages against the slightest restraint, but he had sense enough to accept what must be done and the brothers have prospered by it. You know that the brothers took the women’s name of Scrivener when they married. Tillian insisted upon that before agreeing to the marriage of Aliss. He wished his name preserved. He drew up a will that ensured their direct inheritance.”
“A reason, perhaps, for the brothers to want rid of their women?”
Kendryk shook his head. “Less, in fact,” he said. “There is another child. A third sister.”
“A third? I have heard no mention of this.”
“She is a mere babe,” Kendryk told him. “Fathered by Tillian just after his wife’s death. He confessed it and his family knew though the knowledge is not widely spread abroad. The woman is widowed, as was Tillian I believe at the time of the babe’s conception. He has directed that she should have her share of the inheritance.”
“And was he in his right mind when this child was conceived?” Treven enquired.
Kendryk pursed his thin lips. “That point is moot,” he said. “Aliss doubted.” He looked shrewdly at Treven. “Do not fear, King’s Thegn. I will see that the child is kept safe. Whatever the matter of her conception, she is still entitled to her land.”
Treven frowned but let the matter pass. There were more pressing needs to deal with. “And Aliss was unhappy enough to run away,” Treven mused.
“So it seems. Even wise women can be foolish in matters of the heart. Men too for that matter.”
They fell silent for a moment, waiting while food and drink were brought and Kendryk bade the servants depart. Treven pulled his chair closer to the fire and table.
“The marks on Cate’s neck. They showed the grip of strong fingers, Treven. Is your Reeve capable of strangling a woman?”
Treven carved meat before replying. “Hugh left those marks,” he said slowly. “Of that, I am certain. I watched his face and his eyes betrayed him. He knew what I would find.”
“You think they quarrelled and he tried to kill her?”
“Had Hugh sincerely meant her death, she would have died, I think.” He took a bite of meat and bread and then shook his head. “But no. There is a reverse of that argument. Had Hugh held back, realised she still lived; he must have known she would name him. He could have fled, instead he returned to his bed.”
“Perhaps he thought he had done enough. In panic mistakes are made and Hugh could well have believed that he had killed her. To flee would have been to admit his guilt. So, he lay down to sleep then showed surprise at the manner of her death.”
Treven nodded. “If she recovered consciousness and found him gone . . . she must have known that the charcoal burner lived but a little further on the path. If Hugh then saw her, living, about to raise the cry, he would have had no choice.”
“He had choice,” Kendryk argued. “Had he pleaded that his passion got the better of him. That she angered him and he did not know what he did, he could have pled manslaughter. He is a man of rank, and, one presumes, by those trinkets he wears, of wealth. He could have paid her blood price and be done with it. For that matter, he still could. Eldred is out for vengeance, but the court could uphold Hugh’s right to pay Ficht-wite and the matter be ended. You would, of course, have to send him from you and appoint another in his place.”
Treven nodded slowly. “There are two men here accused according to Folkright," he reminded Kendryk, “and, according to that common law, both must answer charges.”
“Eldred will swear his oath,” Kendryk shrugged. “He will have no trouble finding a dozen men to be his oath helpers. Could Hugh find the same?”
“It could be done. We would have to send to his kin folk, or to the King. Enough still serve him that knew Hugh in times of war. They would swear an oath for him.”
“But you are reluctant to have that done?”
Treven did not reply at once, he tore chunks from the bread and chewed slowly. Staring into the fire, he sought inspiration and clarity in the licking, leaping flames. Finally, he said. “I am reluctant on two counts. The first is that it would look to the King and to Hugh’s kin that I cannot manage my own affairs here and must appeal for help. You might welcome that, but I would not. For the second; words are cheap. It has been known even for a man of honour to perjure himself on oath.”
“But such instances are rare,” Kendryk pointed out. “Most men believe their oath to be sworn before God. It is more than their honour or their soul is worth to swear false.”
“And if I sent for Hugh’s kinsmen or battle companions, they could swear with clear conscience that they’d know him to be brave and true and honourable. In battle, in all of those aspects of his life that they would deem precious, he has done no wrong. They would swear to his good character, not to the fact that he did not kill Cate.”
“Is that all your reason?” Kendryk pushed him.
Treven shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “I believe that at least the marks on her throat are Hugh’s doing. If he did not kill her then it was by default.”
“And the blows to the head?”
“If we see guilt in the one action, then the other has to follow.” He pushed his food away and pressed a hand hard against the fierce pain in his belly.
“What ails you?” Kendryk asked him.
“Pain in the gut. It is nothing. Osric has made a potion for me.”
Kendryk said nothing but continued to watch as Treven tried to ease his discomfort. “So,” he said finally. “You will persuade him to pay the blood price and then send him packing?”
“I will try. I will stand surety for him until such funds can be raised.”
Kendryk laughed aloud. Treven glared at him, irritated by his contempt but the sight was also a disturbing one, that skeletal face, split-mouthed as though a death’s head cackled.
“I have said something to amuse you?”
“Eldred will want gold, not surety. And you, Lord Treven, King’s Thegn, what do you own?”
“I have my land,” Treven told him heatedly “and my sword and horse and sheep and cattle too. I own a hall and two books . . .”
“Two? Riches indeed. Maybe I misjudge you.” He dropped the mocking tone and leaned forward across the table. “Treven, you hold land at the King’s discretion and we all know the moods of kings are fickle. The sheep, I believe are strays from my Abbey farm . . .”
“Which strayed onto my land. They were there when I found them and no mark to say otherwise.”
“We will let the sheep pass. The cattle, I grant you were bought free and fair and the farmer is gleeful that he will neither have to fodder them through winter nor have the trouble of salting their meat and, come Litha, when the poor of the district come to their lord for extra bread and apportion of meat, he too will be there with his hand held out for his share of those cattle you paid him for. The man stands to benefit twice. And as to your horse, he’s seen more winters than that threadbare cloak of yours. Your horse keeps his feet by sheer force of will, love of his master and, no doubt, the herbs Osric adds to his feed that make him feel he is a colt again.”
“The King has promised me two brood mares come Eostre time.”
“You think your
horse will have the strength to cover them? Osric will need to dose him well. Your sword, I grant, is a worthwhile thing. A swordsmith of great craft and worth made that, but I know too you’d as soon lose your life or that of Hugh de Vries as give that up.” He sat back in his seat. “Send to his kinsmen, have them pay Cate’s blood price or make Hugh sacrifice some of that finery he wears. The brooch with which he fastens his cloak, alone would come close to fulfilling his pledge.”
“Whatever happens,” Treven said slowly, “Hugh must leave this place.”
“Too true. He has kinsmen in the south that will welcome him back?”
“They will welcome him, but I doubt he’d want to return.”
“How so?”
Treven couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. “They wish him to enter the Church,” he said. “As a younger son he was destined always for the Abbey. He could rise high in the ranks there, his family are wealthy and have powerful friends.”
“The Lord preserve us,” Kendryk said fervently. “Still, at least he’d be in the right place to repent.” He didn’t sound hopeful of that happening. “Go to Hugh, tell him to confess his guilt. I will ensure that Eldred waits until the gelt can be raised and then I’ll arrange for escort home to Kent. I do not trust Eldred or his friends not to look for vengeance, even after the blood price is paid.”
CHAPTER 22
Rozlyn was half an hour from her destination when her phone rang. It was Brook.
“Where the hell are you?”
“I’m . . .”
“Never mind, Get your arse back here, pronto.”
“Why?”
“Apart from the fact that I said so? We’re raiding the house on Curzon Street. One of those your friend told you about.”
“What! Now?”
“Yes, Now. One of those fancy people carriers turned up an hour ago, crammed to the gunnels. We want them before they’ve a chance to scarper. Meet me there.”
He rang off leaving Rozlyn to wonder if you could really cram a people carrier to the gunnels and what gunnels were anyway?
On a country road the task was now to find a place to turn around. A farm gate a mile further on afforded the opportunity if not quite the space. She dived in and then wriggled the car into a reasonable position for take-off. The farm gate was just past a bend in the road, she’d have to make the turn in one or risk something coming around the bend and broadsiding her. Reversing until her back bumper touched the gate, she made ready to be off, glancing, more from habit than fear of anything behind, into the rear view.
