Mel Starr - Rest Not in Peace

“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.

“What is it?” Lord Gilbert asked when the oaken door was shut.

“Somewhere in your castle there is a man who has been scratched and bitten when he did murder,” I said, and explained what I had found in Sir John’s chamber.

Lord Gilbert looked to Sir Roger and spoke. “Did you see any man in the hall just now who appeared scratched or bitten?”

The sheriff puzzled over the question for a moment before he replied. “Nay… of course, I wasn’t seeking any such wounds. When we return we must be alert. The fellow cannot escape us, I think. Sir John has caught his murderer for us.”

The sheriff’s optimism was misplaced. We returned to the hall but neither I nor Lord Gilbert nor Sir Roger saw anything amiss upon face or form of any man, gentleman or commons, who took his dinner in the hall that day.

Conversation in the hall was muted, as all who dined there knew that among us was a felon, and perhaps two. Such thoughts lead a man to considering whether or not he might also have unwittingly made an enemy and so become the next victim. Such considerations do little to promote appetite or discourse.

Only Squire William of the castle residents was absent from the meal. Whether that was due to the injury to his nose or to his pride I cannot tell. As in the past few days when I dined in the hall, I watched for some behavior which might indicate a troubled conscience. I saw none.

As the meal ended I saw John Chamberlain escort a man into the hall. The fellow was mud-spattered, as if he had been riding hard upon the roads. The newcomer strode straight to the high table and leaned over to speak to Sir Roger.