Season of the Raven (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 1) (21 page)

Once he and Edmund dismounted, Faucon left his clerk to fumble with his sack next to Legate as he joined Lord Rannulf and Bishop William. The stink of death reached out to assault them as they walked toward the girl's remains. Faucon raised a hand to cover his nose, Susanna's stew stirring in his gullet.

Predators and putrefaction had left little to identify her as human, much less as the child she'd once been. The ravens and God only knew what else had made swift work consuming her face. Her eyes were gone, the meat stripped from her forehead down her cheeks and nose to her jaw. Her teeth and jawbone gleamed rusty-white in the sun.

Her simple shift, a long shirt no different from those all females wore beneath their gowns, had prevented the four-legged or winged flesh eaters from reaching all of her. It was here that the insects and the foul liquids of decay had done their work. As they had consumed her softer organs, the seeping liquid had stained what had once been white fabric until it looked mottled and rotten, and as filthy the ground beneath her.

Lord Rannulf crouched beside the girl. Dressed in the same leather hauberk over a huntsman's green tunic as yesterday, the nobleman looked less a baron than one of the beaters he employed. Faucon squatted next to him.

"Look here. I see a line too regular to be anything save the stroke of a well-honed knife." The baron extended a hand to point out what little flesh yet clung to the fragile bones of her neck. Whether moved by a carrion eater or because this was the way she'd been left, her head was twisted to one side, her chin lifted up out of the collar of her shirt. That had separated the cut meat of her neck, revealing its even edges.

"Aye, that seems the work of a blade," Faucon agreed.

"Pity the poor child," Lord Rannulf said softly. He lifted one of the girl's dark tresses. The movement dislodged the faded ring of blue flowers that, until that moment, had clung precariously to the top of her head.

"Would that we'd found her before the beasts and birds had their way with her," Bishop William added, yet standing behind the two warriors. As he had yesterday, he wore his gold-trimmed green gown over dark green chausses and brown boots cross-gartered to his legs. "We will never discover who she was, with nothing left of her face to see."

He continued, speaking this time to the remains of the child on the ground before him. "I pray our Lord accepts the blessings I laid upon you this day, even though you are already gone to Him."

"Who was the first finder?" Edmund asked, his voice as harsh and brusque as ever. "And did this one raise the hue and cry?"

Faucon drew a sharp and irritable breath, only to catch back his chide. Edmund was right. This child had been murdered, then left here without family or friend to see to her final rest. Only the shire's new crowner could help her now, by identifying her killer and bringing him to justice.

Beside him, Bishop William released an angry breath at Edmund's questions. Lord Rannulf shot Faucon a swift sidelong look, filled with impatience and the arrogance of his rank.

"It is the law that these questions must be asked and answered," Faucon told them both, coming to his feet. Lord Rannulf followed. When the three of them stepped back from the girl's body, all of them coughed a little to clear their lungs of the stench.

"So it is," Lord Rannulf replied, his brows rising slowly as subtle surprise filled his gray eyes. He glanced from Faucon to Bishop William, then called, "Hobbe."

A slight man in his middle years wearing the green garb of a forester rose from among the baron's waiting men. Faucon recognized him as a man he'd met time and again while hunting with Lord Rannulf and his brothers. As the forester joined them, he offered a brief bow.

"My lords," he said to the noblemen, then nodded to Faucon. "Sir."

"Hobbe atte Lea was the first finder, Pery," Lord Rannulf said to Faucon, a half-smile clinging to his lips. "He was running with the beaters this day when he came upon her."

"Did you—" Edmund began.

Faucon spoke over him. "Did you raise the hue and cry, Hobbe?" he asked the smaller man.

"In as far as is possible here, sir, I did," Hobbe replied, speaking the nobles' tongue with a heavy accent. "Of course, we knew when we looked upon the poor babe that we were far too late. The one who had done this to her would not be found here. Still, I cried out for my fellow beaters to search the area, looking for anything that murderer might have forgotten or discarded that might identify him."

"And you found nothing?" Faucon asked.

"We found nothing," Hobbe confirmed.

"But Sir Faucon, the law requires—" Edmund began.

Faucon again interrupted him. "I believe I remember that the law requires these men to answer 'aye' or 'nay' to the question of hue and cry, doing so on pain of being fined for either not raising it when needed, or wrongly raising it.

"In all truth, there was no need to raise a hue and cry here." He lifted his hand to indicate the open hillside. "This is no town or village with nooks and crannies where felons might yet be hiding. Brother, you saw as I did that we passed no hamlet or even a farm house for the latter half of our journey. Instead, Hobbe and the others did right by searching the area just as their betters did right by calling for the Keeper of the Pleas to come. And, as their Keeper, I declare that all their actions satisfied the law, even if those actions weren't a perfect reflection of what is written."

"But sir," Edmund tried one last time.

"I assure you, Brother Edmund. You may safely scribe on your parchment that Hobbe atte Lea was first finder and properly raised the hue and cry. Lord Rannulf, will you promise surety to see to it that Hobbe attends the Eyre when I bring the one who did this before the court to receive his earthly punishment?"

"It is the right question to ask of me, Pery, but unnecessary," Lord Rannulf replied with approval and none of his earlier impatience. "These are my lands, and I have a franchise to sit as justice over all issues that arise, including those felonies committed within my boundaries and those of my vassals."

"Thus, I do vow to present myself as first finder when called to testify before Lord Rannulf," Hobbe said, then retreated to join the others of his rank.

Edmund blinked rapidly in thought. His mouth tightened and his brow creased. At last he nodded.

"Aye, Sir Faucon. I can see how what you say about this place would make the hue and cry moot. I shall scribe that the first finder did all that was required and did it properly, and that Lord Graistan has promised to see justice done. What shall we do about proof of Englishry?"

"There is nothing that can be done about it at the moment," Faucon replied. "Since there is no family from whom to demand proof, we will have to levy the murdrum fine against this hundred. My pardon, Lord Rannulf," he said, offering the baron a swift bow.

That made the nobleman laugh. "It's not my fine, but this hundred's to bear. Collect it as best you can."

"As you say, so it will be," Edmund replied with a nod.

Then swinging his sack out from under his arm, he pivoted, scanning the grassy expanse around them. "Fie on me for not realizing I must always carry a traveling desk with me, rather than count on finding a place to write. Might I remove the bag from your horse's saddle, sir? It is about the size and firmness I believe I need." As always, Edmund didn't wait for permission, merely started toward Legate.

"Can you not remember what is said here and scribe it later?" Faucon called after him.

"Memory is a risky business, sir. Only a fool relies upon it," Edmund threw back over his shoulder, already working to loosen the saddlebag that Faucon had left belted onto the side of Legate's saddle yesterday.

"You did well enough remembering what our archbishop said at court a week ago about the Keepers," Faucon reminded him.

"That was nothing that might need to be presented at an Eyre court," Edmund countered, taking a seat on the ground as he began pulling his scribbling supplies from his bag.

"What is this?" Bishop William whispered, a strange tone in his voice as he stared at the monk.

Faucon shot his uncle a quick look, suddenly uncertain about what he'd just said and done. "I know the law requires fines be levied on those who don't properly execute the hue and cry and that the archbishop seeks to collect all such revenue, but surely that can't be applied to such a discovery as this. As for the murdrum fine, I always believed that it was levied in every case where the one who died an unnatural death could not be proved English."

The bishop shifted to look at his nephew. His face was alive in astonishment. "Nay, you mistake me, Pery. You've more than satisfied the law. It's the miracle you've performed with Brother Edmund that has me stunned. He was almost civil! How did you win that from him and do it in so short a time?"

"Oh that," Faucon replied with a grin of relief, then continued, his voice lowered. "If anything is different with the brother, you cannot credit the change to me. Until a few hours ago, I was ready to beg you to release me from this new position so I could be free of him."

"And now you no longer wish to be free of him?" Lord Rannulf said.

"Not at this moment, although I will not vouch for the morrow," Faucon replied, still smiling. "I'm not certain how it happened, but he and I have begun to find our pace, doing so while we spent our day seeking out the one who murdered the miller at Priors Holston."

"You've already taken up your duties?" William's face again filled with surprise.

"Was I not expected to?" Faucon asked, as startled as his uncle.

"Of course you were, but—" the bishop paused, smiled a little then glanced at Lord Rannulf.

The baron laughed out loud. "Did I not tell you Pery was the perfect man for this position, William?"

"So you did, Rannulf. A murder is it, Pery? How did it happen, and will you be sending the one who did it to the gaol? I suppose I must also ask if there will be anything resulting from this action to add to the royal treasury. Commoners usually have so little," he added as an aside.

"I can only say that this whole day has been strange beyond all my previous experience," Faucon replied. "When I arrived at the village this morning, the miller was in his race. He had been besotted the night before, and all believed that he'd fallen into the water due to drink, then drowned, trapped beneath his wheel. But once we extracted him, I discovered he'd been murdered with an awl that pierced his heart. Not only that, the one who killed him took him away from his home to kill him, waited until he'd bled his last, then returned him to the race and the wheel."

"So what man pierced his heart, Sir Keeper of the Pleas?" Lord Rannulf asked.

"Sir Crowner," Faucon corrected, reveling in his conversation with these men. It felt both strange and right to be speaking to them as an equal rather than as a mere second son with no prospects. "That seems the name most folk feel comfortable calling me.

"As for who did this, and why the miller was made to look as if he drowned—" Faucon once again struggled to tame his frustration. "I don't yet know, but I am slowly following the trail left by the murderer, learning to read his tracks as I go. One thing I can tell you. If not for Brother Edmund's insistence on following the rule of law exactly, Sir Alain would have declared the miller drowned, and taken the millwheel as deodand before I arrived at Priors Holston this morning. Edmund kept the sheriff at bay until I came."

Bishop William frowned at that. "Sir Alain was at Priors Holston this morn? How in the world did the sheriff come halfway across the shire and arrive before you, when you were only at Blacklea?"

"Because the sheriff wasn't across the shire," Faucon said with the lift of his brows. "He was close at hand this morning, something the miller's son had discovered several weeks before. It seems Sir Alain has been residing at his wife's manor of Aldersby since returning from Rochester and court."

"What!?" Lord Rannulf retorted in harsh surprise. "Lady Joan finally let her husband cross the threshold of her manor?"

Faucon stared at the nobleman in astonishment. He hadn't even considered that Lord Rannulf might be one to ask about shire gossip. "Apparently so."

"Huh, wonders never cease," the nobleman said with a laugh. "As far as I know, his wife has never once let him step a foot inside that gate until now."

Stephen had said something similar about the sheriff and Aldersby. "Why not?" Faucon asked.

Lord Rannulf laughed at that, this time displaying the smile that he and his brothers shared. It was one they must have inherited from their father, for there was nothing like it among the de Veres. "Because she enjoys rankling him. Aldersby is her dower from her first marriage, and she holds it in her own right. Sir Alain married her for profit and much against her wishes, when he paid the king to acquire her from among the royal wards. That set the lady on a quest to see the sheriff receives as little profit as possible from her. She's even managed to produce nothing but girls by his seed."

"It's a shame what time wrought of Sir Alain," Bishop William said, his tone subdued. He crossed his arms and shook his head. "Aye, he's a man of much more substance these days, but he's not the man I knew when he was but a landless knight under William de Mandeville, and we all rode out of Essex to make our journey to the Holy Land."

Faucon drew a breath so sharp he coughed. The bits and pieces of information he had in store shifted again. This time, when they came to rest, he could see the end of this trail and knew what awaited him there.

His uncle was yet speaking.  
"I'd press Hubert Walter for his removal if there were someone both trustworthy and powerful enough to replace him. Sir Alain has many supporters in this shire, most of them benefitting somehow from his reign as sheriff. What can I do? There aren't many sheriffs as honest as Geoffrey," he finished, referring to Faucon's cousin and Lord Rannulf's middle half-brother.

"My lord, might I ask when you made that journey to the Levant? I can't recall my lady mother ever mentioning it," Faucon asked.