Rest Not in Peace (12 page)

“When I think that I have sorted out the trail of evidence leading to Sir Henry’s murder,” I complained, “some new event or clue comes to muddle the business.”

“And I know you well,” Kate said. “You wish things to be orderly, tied up in neat bundles.”

“Aye, but life is oft a muddle. I get my bundles knotted and tidy and someone comes by and cuts the cord and all is in disarray again.”

“Perhaps such folk are the Lord Christ’s tool to keep us from thinking too highly of our accomplishments. We need to see our plans and the things we have achieved laid waste so as to keep us humble.”

“If so, the Lord Christ has achieved His purpose. I am no nearer discovering Sir Henry’s murderer than when I was first summoned to the castle last Wednesday. Each day I fail to find the felon serves to increase my humility and thereby improve my standing before the Lord Christ.”

Kate’s brow furrowed. “Does failure then bring us closer to God than success? Does the Lord Christ not wish you to prevail over a felon?”

I thought upon her words for some time before I replied. “The Lord Christ wishes men to attain success, I think, so long as their desires accord with His will. But if a man reaches his goal and is convinced his own competence is responsible for the achievement, he will not
likely seek the Lord Christ in humility, nor share with Him other men’s praise.”

“So failure is better for the soul than success?” Kate asked.

“Depends upon the soul,” I replied. “If a man blunders at all he does, will he not soon lose heart? How then can he achieve any success, for himself or anyone else?”

“So then ’tis best for a man to sometimes succeed, and sometimes fail?”

“Aye. For life in this world success is necessary, but for assurance of life with the Lord Christ in heaven, some failure, and the abasement it brings, is perhaps needful. There are few prideful men in heaven, I think.”

“Is the Lord Christ teaching you humility and preparing your soul for heaven because you have not yet discovered a felon?”

“Mayhap it is too soon to say. But I must learn to be content, after I have done my best, whether I succeed in some matter or fail. I must do my work, without allowing it to disturb the peace of my soul. The Lord Christ commands that we serve others, but I must not forget Him whilst I do so.”

“You have come near to that?” Kate asked.

“Aye, but you and Bessie have reminded me of my duty.”

“Duty to the Lord Christ or duty to men?”

“Is there a difference? I am thinking that a responsibility to one is a responsibility to both.”

“It is your duty to God, then, to find who has slain Sir Henry… and a duty to Sir Henry, also, though he is not here to appreciate your effort?”

“Aye, as you say. And a duty to the Lady Margery and Lady Anne as well.”

“Unless one was a party to the murder,” Kate said.

“Even then, for if the sin goes undiscovered the guilty may never seek forgiveness of the Lord Christ, and imperil their soul because of my malfeasance.”

“You will save the felon by discovering who ’tis and sending him to the gallows?”

“Aye. Strange as it may seem, the felon who goes undiscovered may be in greater peril than the one who is found out, if not in this world, then surely in the next. The man whose sin is revealed, and who faces the noose, has time and a strong goad to acknowledge his felony before the Lord Christ and seek His pardon, but he whose offense remains hidden may never appeal to the Lord Christ for His grace.”

The embers upon the hearth had burned down to a faint glow, as eventually did our discourse. Kate and I sat silently upon the bench as darkness came upon the town, and only reluctantly did I break the spell and suggest we seek our bed.

T
uesday dawned as bleak as Monday eve, so cloudy and grey that even Kate’s rooster seemed uncertain of the time and produced but a half-hearted call to proclaim the new day. He need not have troubled himself. I awoke when Bessie announced that she wished to break her fast, and although Kate must deal with the demand, my thoughts kept me from renewing slumber even though there was but a hint of dawn in the eastern sky.

I lay warm under the blanket and considered the events of the past six days while Kate placed Bessie back in her bed and departed our bedchamber. I listened to Kate begin the day, and tried to order my thoughts so as to find some pattern in events which would point to a murderer. I was not successful, and Bessie began to stir again in her cot, so I climbed from my bed, dressed myself, and carried Bessie to the stairs.

The morning Angelus Bell had rung some time past, but I was in no hurry to begin the day. I lingered over my morning loaf and ale, considering and then discarding one measure for discovering a felon after another. I could not decide how I would proceed this day, when a thumping upon Galen House door took the matter from my hands.

’Twas John Chamberlain who again found me with my mouth full of maslin loaf. I saw in his eyes that some great matter troubled him and soon discovered my conjecture true.

“’Tis Sir John,” he said. “His page took him a loaf and ale this morning to break his fast and found him dead. All
bloody he is, too. His wound opened in the night. Lord Gilbert would have you come. Nothing to be done for the man, but you should see what has happened.”

I suspected immediately that murder had been done again in Bampton Castle, for the wound across Sir John’s ribs which I had stitched closed Sunday afternoon was not likely to reopen, nor was it deep enough to cause a man to bleed to death if it did so. I kept my thoughts to myself, downed the last of my ale, gathered a pouch of instruments should I find that some were needed, and followed John into the mud of Church View Street. Rain had begun to fall again.

Somber faces greeted me in the castle hall. Sir John may have had a temper – what knight does not? – but from the leaden expressions I saw upon the faces of members of Sir Henry’s household, I believe the knight was esteemed.

I followed the chamberlain through the hall to the passage which led to Sir John’s chamber. Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger greeted me at the chamber door and I saw immediately that at least a part of what John had said at Galen House door was true.

Sir John lay upon a mattress, soaked in blood from neck to knees. He had slept only in braes, and the linen was also sodden with gore.

“The wound you closed burst open in the night,” Lord Gilbert said. There was an accusation in his voice.

I did not immediately reply, but walked to the dead man and bent to examine the wound. The light was poor, but I could see no other wound than the one I had closed, and it was true that the cut I had stitched was now open, a half-dozen or more stitches ruptured.

I looked about the chamber and saw drops of blood upon the flags and even a few scattered low on the wall beside the bed.

“You think he was in pain in the night,” Lord Gilbert asked, “and thrashed about, undoing your work?”

“Nay,” I replied. “He was stabbed.”

“What? Who would do so? William? Surely it was but the thread you used which broke. Perhaps he twisted wrongly in his sleep.”

“Six or more stitches have been cut through, not broken.”

I searched in my pouch and brought from it the spool of silken thread I had used two days past to close Sir John’s laceration. From the spool I cut a length as long as my arm, gave it to Lord Gilbert, and invited him to break it. He wrapped it about his hands and yanked against the silk. The thread did not yield, but Lord Gilbert did. His mouth tightened in pain as the silk cut into his hands and he quickly relaxed his grip.

“Not easily broken,” he said with a grimace.

“You could pull against one end, and Sir Roger against the other, and the silk would likely not break. No man could toss upon his bed and break the silk, as you see. It was cut. Some man put a dagger into Sir John in the same place he was slashed, hoping all would believe he had died of the first wound, not of a second.”

Lord Gilbert looked from his tender hands to the floor and wall. “Why is blood so scattered about?”

“Fought for his life,” Sir Roger said. “Whoso did this thought that in his wounded condition ’twould be child’s play to drive a blade into him.”

“Sir Roger speaks true,” I said. “When I saw him yesterday he was mending well. William’s slash had weakened him but little.”

“Then whoso did this murder will be splashed with Sir John’s blood, eh?” Lord Gilbert said.

“Likely, though the felon will probably discard his apparel rather than send it to be laundered,” I said.

There would be no keeping this death or its cause hidden. Lady Margery, Lady Anne, Sir Geoffrey, Robert de Cobham, Walter, and several other valets and grooms to both Sir Henry and Lord Gilbert crowded the passageway outside the chamber door. Squire William was absent, which, given his falling out with Sir John two days past, caused Sir Roger to assume guilt.

“I told you,” he said to me, “that we should have seized that squire when we found the bodkin and bloody cloth in his chamber. We will do so now.”

Squire Robert heard the sheriff, as did all who clogged the passageway outside the chamber. “William did not do this murder,” Robert said.

“Oh?” Sir Roger replied. “Why do you say so?”

“William’s nose vexes him much. He could not sleep. I heard him tossing and groaning upon his bed and could find no rest myself, so I arose and lighted a cresset and sat with William all the night.”

“All the night? ’Til dawn?”

“Aye.”

“What did you speak of?”

“What young men commonly talk about… glory in battle and fair maids and such.”

“Where is William now?” Sir Roger demanded.

“In our chamber, resting, his eyes all black and his nose purple. I heard the fuss and came to see what it was about.”

“Come,” Sir Roger said to Lord Gilbert and me, “we’ll take this fellow back to his chamber and seek a bloody cotehardie. I’ll wager both came here to slay Sir John. One held him down and the other delivered the thrust.”

’Twas a gamble the sheriff would have lost. I told Sir Geoffrey to allow no man to enter Sir John’s chamber, and moments later we found William, as Robert said we would, restless upon his bed, his face all bloated and
discolored from the combined effects of Sir John’s blow and my remedy. The sheriff and I ransacked the squires’ chests, peered under their mattresses, and I examined their fingernails. We found no trace of blood. If one or both plunged a blade into Sir John they had been uncommonly thorough in covering the deed. Sir Roger demanded their daggers, and these also were free of any sign of blood. If they had been wiped clean there was no stained cloth hidden in the fireplace this day to expose a felony.

Sir Roger does not like to be proven wrong. Neither do I, which is why I have learned to avoid appearing assured of my knowledge when I am not. ’Tis better to seem wise later than foolish soonest. Sir Roger would not have appreciated the sentiment, so I held my tongue.

“Who else would have wanted Sir John dead?” Lord Gilbert asked as we returned to the dead man’s chamber. I did not reply. Best to follow my own advice and remain silent.

I saw Sir Geoffrey blocking the entrance to Sir John’s chamber when we returned to the passageway outside the room. The crowd was as we had left it, each pronouncing an opinion about the death. Above the other voices I heard Lady Margery’s irritating soprano assuring Walter that my clumsy surgery was responsible for Sir John’s demise, that no murder was done, and I said ’twas so to avoid blame for my malfeasance. She had begun to claim once again that I was also responsible for her husband’s death, but heard our footsteps approach, turned, and fell silent.

“Send them all away,” I said softly to Lord Gilbert. “I wish to examine Sir John and the chamber in peace and quiet, with no man peering over my shoulder to see what I am about or what I have found.”

“It will be done,” he said, and in a firm voice commanded all to depart. “When we gather for dinner
Master Hugh will tell us what he has found. Now we will leave him to his business.”

The groom Arthur had joined the folk outside Sir John’s chamber. I asked him to remain and guard the door so I might be assured of solitude whilst I studied the corpse. What I might learn from a dead man I did not know, but of one thing I was certain: if I did not examine the corpse and chamber they would tell me nothing.

The single window in the chamber faced east, which on another day might have provided good light for my work. But the morning was as dismal as a day in November, so whatever I might learn would be the result of close examination.

The blanket which had covered Sir John whilst he slept was in a rumpled pile about his ankles. If he had indeed fought his assailant he had done so without getting feet and legs free of entanglement in the blanket. This would surely be an impediment to a man struggling for his life.

The cresset in the room was not lit. The man who attacked Sir John had done so with only the light from the window to guide his stroke. The night had been heavy with clouds, but above them the moon was but four days from being full. Would this provide a man with enough light to send his dagger accurately where he would have it go? I cast my mind back to Bessie’s awakening demand to be fed. Although the eastern sky had but a pale grey cast, there was enough light in our chamber that I could see Kate rise and lift Bessie from her cot. Enough light to do murder? I thought so.

I had already examined the open wound, but went to it again to see if I had overlooked some important thing. I had not, or if I did, I overlooked it again, for the only thing the gash told me was that some man had undone my work with his dagger.

The new wound had bled terribly. The thrust of the dagger had gone deep into some essential organ; the liver, perhaps, or mayhap the blade was twisted and penetrated Sir John’s heart. If he fought his assailant the struggle could not have lasted long. I must remember to ask Sir Geoffrey if he had heard a man cry out in the night.

Sir John had not yet begun to stiffen. The stroke which took his life was delivered just before dawn, I thought. Had it come early in the night he would be nearly rigid now in death.

I lifted an arm and examined Sir John’s fingernails. I was uncertain if any matter lay under them, for the light was poor. From my pouch I took my smallest scalpel and scraped debris from beneath the nails of the knight’s left hand.

I found nothing under his thumb, but under all four fingernails I found stuff which might have been another man’s skin, and under Sir John’s middle fingernail the detritus was pink. Somewhere a man had a scratch, I thought. If it was upon his face I would have a murderer.

Two of Sir John’s fingernails on his right hand had also some unidentifiable substance which was possibly another man’s skin, although there was no dark stain which might have been blood.

Sir John’s eyes, unlike Sir Henry’s, were closed in death. Perhaps after the struggle with his slayer, he sank back upon his pillow and, weak from loss of blood, closed his eyes in endless sleep.

I was about to turn my attention to the blood-spattered wall when I caught sight of a small reddish stain upon the knight’s lips. A man’s lips are reddish, and a woman’s also, so in the dim light I nearly missed the indistinct smudge, faint as it was.

Sir John’s lips parted easily enough, rigor mortis only just beginning. I expected to see that he had bitten his
tongue in the pain of his wound or in the struggle which had apparently followed. Not so. Sir John’s tongue was whole, but between his clenched teeth I discovered a tiny bit of flesh.

Somewhere within Bampton Castle there was a man missing a bit of an ear or a finger or some other accessible portion of his anatomy. If the tiny wound and the scratch were in a visible place my search for Sir John’s murderer would end soon, although such a discovery might tell me nothing of who murdered Sir Henry. On the other hand, it might.

I covered Sir John with the blanket and then turned my attention to the wall, where I counted eleven spots of blood surely spattered there when murder was done. Upon the planks of the floor I found five more stains. Was this Sir John’s blood, or had he injured his assailant enough that his slayer’s blood mingled with his own? I thought not. The reddish tissue I found under a fingernail would not produce a gash large enough to leave even one drop of blood, nor would the tiny bit of flesh I found between his teeth.

I left the chamber, convinced that I had learned what I could, and found Arthur planted squarely before the door. I thanked the groom for his service, and was a little surprised at his reply.

“You’d a’ had companions was I not ’ere.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Near all the gentlefolk what’s in the castle but for Lord Gilbert an’ Sir Roger.”

“Did any ask of me?”

“Nay. I scowled at ’em, see, so they held their peace and walked on past as like they had some business what took ’em here.”

Arthur’s scowl is more effective than most, as it comes from the face of a burly man with broad shoulders and
stump-like thighs under his cotehardie. My frown is not nearly so effective.

“Lady Margery come past twice, once with Lady Anne,” Arthur said.

“’Tis near time for dinner,” I said, “and Lord Gilbert will want to know what I have learned. ’Twould be well if you remained here to see that no man enters until Lord Gilbert and the sheriff approve.”

Arthur tugged at a forelock and I left him and sought the hall. Grooms had erected tables for dinner, and most of the castle inhabitants were present, their conversations a low hum filling the hall. When I was seen this discourse ended and the hall fell silent.

I did not wish all present to hear my words to Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger, so asked if I might speak to them privily in the solar. My employer nodded, motioned to the sheriff to lead, and we three set off for the stairs.