Michael JECKS - The Oath

Their evening had not been restful. Margaret had been weepy and miserable, and Simon was convinced that his indecision was the cause of their current situation. If only he had made up his mind to do as she suggested sooner! If only he had agreed to leave that very night, rather than wait until the morning, they would be past the great line of hills to the south by now. If only he had been able to make a decision, his wife would be out of this damned city, and perhaps on her way to safety.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

Hugh was already awake and had taken hold of his staff as he rose, yawning and blinking, from his palliasse near the door. Margaret was awake beside Simon in the bed, while Peterkin and Rob slept on, huddled together on their own palliasse, wrapped in coverlets, Peterkin snoring gently.

‘Master Simon Puttock, if he is awake,’ came the drawling response, and Simon cursed as he pulled on a shirt, walking to the door and pulling it wide. ‘Sir Charles, what sort of hour do you call this?’

‘One of the more unpleasant ones, Master Bailiff. Madame Puttock, I am sorry to disturb your rest. I trust I may bring your husband back very soon.’

‘You want to talk?’ Simon asked, rubbing his bearded face and yawning.

‘I would like to take you to see something, master. But not, perhaps, until you have had a chance to clothe yourself. You may find the night air a little inclement. And it’s raining.’

Simon grunted and reluctantly went to his pile of clothes. Drawing on his hosen and binding the cords about his waist, he cast a bitter eye at the knight. ‘So what is it? Some debate about military matters? How to defend the city? I’m not experienced in matters such as those, you know.’

‘No, Bailiff,’ the man replied, and now his manner was deadly serious. ‘No, this is a case of murder, I think. And I am sure that I need help in the matter.’

Bristol

Sir Charles had said that the body was a fair distance away, but since the whole city bounded by the wall was tiny, Simon doubted that it could be far.

‘Christ’s cods!’ he spat as he stumbled into a rut. ‘Why do you want my help?’

‘You have experience of dead bodies, Bailiff, and investigating them. I remember that much from our meetings in the past. There has been a woman killed, and I would appreciate your experience.’

‘You’ll be disappointed,’ Simon grumbled. ‘If you really want help, it’s Baldwin you should speak to. He is the one who understands death and dead bodies. I am the one who tries to avoid them. My help was only needed when he had less knowledge of a local village, and I knew more of the people. Anyway, isn’t there a Keeper of the King’s Peace or someone else here to investigate such matters?’

‘Yes, there are plenty of people here in the city, Master Bailiff, but in case you had not noticed, they are all rather busy with arranging for the defence of the city just now.’

Simon grunted. ‘I see. But what is the reason for calling on me at this time of night? I ought to be with my wife. We have not had a good day today. We’d hoped to leave and make our way home, but were turned back at the gates.’

‘I think there are a lot of people who will soon wish that they had escaped Bristol,’ Sir Charles said with sudden sombreness. ‘Myself included. I didn’t intend to come here and be imprisoned in the city.’

Simon nodded as he followed Sir Charles up a lane, along a broader street, and then into an alley that narrowed until it took a turn at the end.

It was clear that this was where the unfortunate body lay, because there was a large group about it. With the curfew operating, these people must be neighbours, called like Simon from their beds to witness the body. A pair of horn lanterns flickered and cast a baleful light on the area, making faces look devilish or unwholesomely pale by turn. Sir Charles called out to a pair of watchmen, both older men with grim faces and figures that would compel a man to be polite. They held thick staffs, one as short as a cudgel, the other as long as a bow, and both looked entirely competent to handle them. Hearing Sir Charles’s shout, they stood back, and commanded the rest of the people to give way, pushing with their staves to clear a wider circle.

Simon shoved his way through and found himself confronted by the body of a woman in her middle years. She lay on her back, her eyes wide open. One arm was at her side, while her right had the elbow bent, and her hand was up near her shoulder.

Simon knelt beside her and closed his eyes for a moment or two. Not so very long ago, he would have reached for a bucket – but he was grown more accustomed to the horrors of murder, and as he opened them again, his eyes began to take in the details even as his mind rebelled at the sight. He had often heard Baldwin say that a dead body was a person with a story to tell, but who had been struck dumb. The killer had left his reasons for the killing all about the corpse, and a man who had eyes to see and a brain to think, would be able to read the tale.

In the dark he had to peer closely, but first he surveyed her body, how she lay, the ground about her, searching for any little hints as to what might have happened here.

The first thing that sprang to mind was rape, naturally. A man who felt he had been rejected might, after some ales, decide to repay the woman who had spurned his advances. Rape followed by homicide was all too common.

Her skirts were lifted, but here in the dark he was reluctant to investigate her intimate parts further. In the morning when the inquest was held they could see whether she had been savagely assaulted; perhaps the story here was that simple? Certainly, when Simon peered at her face, he was sure that there was bruising about her mouth. He motioned to a boy and took a lantern from him, studying her more closely. Yes, her mouth had been roughly gripped, which could mean she had been held down to stop her calling for help. It brought to his mind a picture of this woman squirming, trying to break away, her eyes wide with terror and horror… It was a thought to make his stomach turn.

He felt her body gently, seeking a wound, but at first could find none. Her flesh was still quite warm, although there was no breath in her. She was plainly dead, but she must have died quite recently. Then he felt the little patch of stickiness, and beckoned the moon-curser [24] the boys who lit the way of walkers in the dark were often called ‘moon-cursers’ because when the moon was bright they would swear at the loss of their trade. to him.

The boy lowered his lamp and Simon lifted a fold of material. There, just under her breast, was a stab wound. At least an inch in breadth, he reckoned.

She had been stabbed only once that he could tell; was there another wound? In his experience, men and women often had defensive cuts on their hands when they tried to shield themselves. He studied her palms but there was no mark there.

He squatted on his heels, thinking. Perhaps she had been hit on the head. If she had been knocked down, she wouldn’t have been able to defend herself. He reached behind her head, lifting it and feeling the scalp all over. The ground here was rough, and taking his hand away, he saw blood on his fingers. It was not proof of anything, of course, but the way she was lying here, the bruising about her mouth, seemed to imply that she had been held down, a hand over her mouth, her head pressed into the ground.

Simon stood, and spoke to Sir Charles, explaining his findings.

‘I see. There is nothing more to learn, you think?’

‘In this light it is not easy, Sir Charles,’ Simon said sharply. ‘I wouldn’t think she was killed a very long time ago, because the rats haven’t been at her yet, and she is still warm.’