Alys Clare - Ashes of the Elements

‘Because,’ Josse shot her a look, then returned his eyes to the sheriff. ‘Because, although it’s possible the Forest People killed Hamm Robinson — although I’ve yet to see or hear anything that remotely resembles proof, without which you can hardly hang one man, let alone a whole tribe — I can tell you for certain that the Forest People didn’t kill Ewen Asher.’

The sheriff emitted an expletive which Helewise hadn’t heard for years. People did not normally employ that sort of language within the walls of a convent. ‘You’re talking rot!’ he went on, getting to his feet and lurching towards Josse. ‘How can you be certain ?’ His repetition of the word mocked Josse. ‘Just tell me that!’

‘Because Ewen was killed with a dagger, and because his killer was both a very different man, and in a very different frame of mind, from whoever slayed Hamm Robinson,’ Josse said coolly. ‘Hamm’s murder was clean and quick, performed with considerable expertise, by someone who was an excellent shot and used to his chosen weapon. The spear tip, I understand, pierced the heart.’

‘All right,’ the sheriff acknowledged. ‘So what?’

‘The man who killed Ewen — and I am quite sure it was a man, because of the force behind some of the wounds — was in a panic. Possibly he had tried to make it a quick, clean kill, too, but whichever of the cuts he made first wasn’t deep enough, and failed to penetrate a vital organ. With Ewen screaming and writhing at his feet, the murderer, perhaps beginning to be overcome with the horror of it all, slashed out again and again, throat, chest, face, until at last, realising the man was quite dead, he stopped.’

The sheriff was staring at Josse, mouth open. ‘How can you tell all this?’ he said, a sneering tone entering his voice.

‘For one thing, by the wounds,’ Josse replied. ‘And for another-’

‘Well?’

Josse glanced across at the Abbess. ‘Never mind.’

The sheriff looked as if he was about to press him, but apparently decided against it. ‘Well, if it wasn’t the Forest People, then it was that poacher. That other fellow who used to go about with Hamm Robinson. His cousin.’

‘Seth?’ supplied Josse.

‘Aye. Seth Miller.’

‘I don’t believe Seth killed him either,’ Josse said. ‘Although I admit he had a motive.’

‘Well, won’t you enlighten us as to why it wasn’t Seth?’ It was the sheriff’s turn to sound sarcastic. ‘Not the type of man to panic, perhaps? Arms too weak to make such cuts?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Josse said mildly, not, Helewise noticed, rising to the bait. ‘The reason that I doubt Seth was responsible was because he carries a knife, with a fairly short blade. The wounds on the dead man were made by a dagger.’

‘Knife or dagger, what’s the difference?’

Josse shook his head gently. ‘Oh, dear,’ he murmured. Then, before the sheriff’s anger could come to the boil and erupt, said, ‘A knife has one sharp surface and a dagger has two. Seth carries a common-or-garden knife, which he probably uses for everything from gutting rabbits to picking his teeth. The wounds on Ewen Asher show very clearly that they were made by a weapon with two sharp edges. Therefore, the killer is unlikely to be Seth. Unless, of course, you think that Seth was carrying a special dagger last night, purely to kill Ewen with, which is perfectly possible, I grant you. Except that Ewen was killed in a sudden fit of panic, or temper, and for Seth to have armed himself beforehand with this hypothetical dagger would have meant the murder was premeditated.’

Helewise, not at all sure that the sheriff had grasped all of that, suppressed a smile as, sinking down again on to his seat, Harry Pelham muttered, ‘Hypothetical dagger. Premeditated. Panic.’ After a few moments’ thought, however, he rallied.

‘I’m going to arrest Seth Miller,’ he announced. ‘Right now. Whether he planned to murder Ewen or not, I reckon he did it. He can sweat it out in my jail for a while and think about his sins. Then I’m going to ask him a few questions.’

Harry Pelham stood up, took a couple of paces towards Josse and, snarling at him as if he wished it were to be Josse rather than Seth he would be interrogating, finished, ‘And, God help him, he’d better have some good answers!’

* * *

Helewise and Josse listened to the repeated echoes of the slammed door. As the sheriff’s furious footsteps faded away, Josse said, ‘Pleasant fellow.’

Helewise smiled. ‘Indeed. I wouldn’t be in the shoes of any of his minions, at least not for the next few hours.’

‘Has he a wife?’

‘I’ve no idea. I hope not.’

‘The man’s a dullard,’ Josse pronounced. ‘The kind who jumps at the first obvious solution in order to save himself the trouble of seeking out the truth.’

‘I fear you are right,’ she agreed. ‘Or, in this case, the second obvious solution. Which means that he’ll probably hang Seth for the murder of Ewen.’

‘And, although Seth is a poacher and a thief, and perhaps deserves to hang for those and other crimes, I don’t think he killed Ewen,’ Josse said slowly.

‘You’re certain? That talk about the knife and the dagger was true?’

Josse grinned at her. ‘You thought I might have produced all those arguments merely to annoy Sheriff Pelham?’

She smiled. ‘No, I didn’t think that. Although I could have understood it if you had done.’

‘No,’ Josse said. ‘It was true. Those cuts on poor Ewen were without doubt made by a dagger, moreover, a very sharp one. The edges of the slashes were so clean, and I doubt they could have been so had they been made with Seth’s knife. Anyone’s knife, come to that — it’s not practical, is it, Abbess, to carry stuck in your belt something with two such keen edges?’

‘No.’ She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘How do you come to know so much, Sir Josse?’ she asked. It was something she had wondered about before. ‘Has your life been so wild, that you are well acquainted with death by violence?’

He returned her gaze for some moments without speaking, as if he were thinking back. Then he said, ‘I was long a fighting man, Abbess. For better or worse, I did as I was ordered. In that time, I saw many dead men. Although I didn’t realise it, I must have been taking in more than I thought.’

‘I-’ she began.

But he had rested his hands on her table, and, leaning towards her, went on, ‘I should not wish you to imagine that I spent my fighting years hanging around the wounded and the dead, poking and prodding at their wounds like some ghoul.’

‘I didn’t imagine that for one moment!’ she protested. ‘I comment on it merely because, as in other things, it is proof that you are a man who keeps his eyes open. Who observes, who uses his wits. As, indeed, God intended that all men should.’ She sighed. ‘Clearly an intention that did not penetrate into Sheriff Harry Pelham’s head.’

‘Too much thick bone in the way,’ Josse said dourly. ‘Abbess, how come such a man is Sheriff? Who appointed him? And do they not realise that he is a fool?’

‘The office of Sheriff of Tonbridge is, I believe, a matter for the Clares,’ she replied. ‘And — but this is only hearsay, Sir Josse, so please accept it as such — I do hear it muttered that the Clares prefer a malleable man, and, possibly, one without too much mother-wit, in order that the true authority shall remain with them.’

Josse was nodding. ‘I see.’

And, although he asked no more questions and made no further comment on the matter, she was quite sure that he did.

She rose to her feet. ‘Sir Josse, if you will excuse me, I wish to speak to both Sister Caliste and to Esyllt.’ She hesitated, watching him. ‘I know that you do, too, but will you allow me to interview them alone, to begin with?’