J. Tomlin: The Templar's Cross

Still no one answered, so he yanked again, impatient.

The minutes stretched out and Law lifted his hand to the rope again when he heard the slap of sandals. A flap slid open and eyes peered out at him from a round face lit by the flickering light of a lantern.

Law cleared his throat. “I found a body. Across the way.”

“A body? That of a person?” When Law said aye, the man’s eyes narrowed. “Not in the monastery grounds. Then it is nae our affair.”

“I must speak with the prior to see if he would send someone to keep watch on the body. The Christian thing, certes. He cannot be left to lie for the dogs.”

The yard was laid out with gravel walks between evergreens like dark giants, and beyond them the outline of large guesthouses where the king and the royal court often stayed. Though the drizzle had stopped, there was still the sound of dripping water from the branches. He followed the friar up the walk toward a building where lights shone out through narrow windows that he guessed to be the refectory.

The man looked over his shoulder with pursed lips and frowned but opened the door. He motioned to a stone bench before he turned and slap-slapped back down the stone corridor. His black robe swished around his legs as he scurried through a door that he closed behind him. Law crossed his arms and sank onto the bench, his leg protesting at the length of his walk.

He shook his head. The body was out of the way. He could only hope it would not be disturbed until he returned.

There was a low murmur from beyond the door of someone reading scripture, and a smell of cooked kale, beans and bread made his nose twitch; his empty belly grumbled. Torches in sconces on the wall threw flickering light, and he studied the shifting shapes as he considered what to do next. How much should he tell the sergeant? Should he seek out Blinsele or continue the search?

The door opened and a short, compact friar with a square face scrunched into a scowl under a grizzled tonsure strode toward him. The cross that hung from his leather girdle was jeweled, and his robes looked to be fine wool.

Law stood and gave a respectful bow of his head. “Brother Prior?”

“Aye. Brother Gilbert was wittering on about a…a body?”

“I fear so, in the alley by the dyer’s yard across the road. I must find the watch and hoped you might send a lay brother to guard the body.”

The deep folds in the prior’s face deepened. “Why the watch?”

Law gave a shrug of one shoulder. “The front of his doublet was sticky.” He held out his hand with a smudge of red on his fingertips, tempted to wipe them on his leg, but it was best not to risk bloodying his clothes and being accused himself. “So far as I could tell in the dark, he’s been stabbed.”

“We have a duty-” The man swallowed noisily. “-to see if he still lives and offer rites. Wait and I’ll have Brother Gilbert bring a lantern. We…we must see to this. I shall tend this myself.”

“The body is cooling, so it is too late-”

The man blew out a noisy breath and seemed to gather his thoughts. He called out some names.

A middle-aged, placid-looking brother stuck his head through the door. “I have a task for you. Go to the tolbooth and find Sergeant Meldrum. Have him meet us across the road.”

The man scurried away for the sergeant and a moment later the pudgy friar who had opened the door returned carrying a lantern. Law led the silent duo into the alley and pointed.

“Merciful Jesu…” the prior muttered. “There is no doubt the soul has departed?”

“Wait.” Law held up his hand. In the dim light of the lantern he squinted at the ground. The water from the rain had puddled over any markings there might have been. If there had been a struggle, the signs were already erased. He stepped close and hunkered down on the opposite side of the body from the priests so the light from the lantern would fall on it. “The blood long since stopped flowing.” Law touched the slack face. He had known it was Duncan, but the sight of his face was still a jolt. The last companion from all his years in France was now dead. “And his body is cool, though not yet cold.”

The prior crossed himself before he said a prayer for the dead, “ Requiem ?ternam dona ei Domine; et lux perpetua luceat ei. Requiescat in pace . Amen .”

Law sketched a cross without rising as he continued to look thoughtfully at the slash in the front of Duncan’s blood-streaked leather jerkin.

“Robbed, no doubt.” The prior sighed. “And on our doorstep.”

“His sword is here, a braw piece.” Law dumped out the merk he had left in Duncan’s purse. “And money yet in his purse. If it was robbery, it was an odd one.” He returned the coin and pulled open Duncan’s jerkin and the linen shirt under it.

The prior made a noise of protest. “What are you doing?”

“Bring the lantern closer. I’ll let the sergeant know what I find, but I would see for myself,” Law said to the brother who had backed up a step. In the flickering light, in spite of streaks of blood, a narrow wound was easy to make out. “This is no sword thrust. A dagger, most like. Someone was gey close to land the blow.” Duncan would never have allowed de Carnea so close with a weapon drawn and not drawn his own. If it had been a thief certainly, again, Duncan would have drawn his sword. If Duncan had enemies of his own in Perth, he’d given no hint of it, although he was argumentative in his cups.

A stir along the dark street announced the arrival of Sergeant Meldrum.

“Aye. That must be them. So let me see into this to do,” the sergeant said. He marched up to them, followed by an underling and the brother who’d fetched them, and stopped so suddenly beside that the brother plowed into him with an oof.

Meldrum was a short, lean man with a neat silver mustache. Piercing blue eyes caught a gleam of the lamplight. Law put him at about fifty or so, a man who had aged well.

Fixing his hands onto his hips, he bent to peer down at the body. “Stabbed then, was he?” He glared at Law. “Was this your doing?”

Law ran a hand over his face. “No. We were to tryst here and go to a tavern. I sought him when he was not on the street. I near stumbled over his body.”

“So you kent him.”

“We were both without a patron and looking for employment. Aye, I kent him well enow.” Law sighed as he rose. “He was nae robbed.” He pointed out the valuables Duncan still carried.

Meldrum took the lamp from the brother and stepped close to Law to move it up and down as he looked Law over, and Law was glad he hadn’t wiped blood from his fingers onto his clothes. The sergeant nodded and looked at the prior. “Did anyone from the monastery see either of them about? Hear any noise or any sort of rammy?”

“Whether they were seen, I dinnae ken but had any heard any to-do near the gates, they would have telt me or Brother Andro.”

The sergeant turned his gaze to Law once more. “Where do you bide?”

Law told him and suffered the man’s suspicious looks. The man grunted. “Might I ask the subprior if any of the brothers reported aught or heard a fight rather than reporting to you? I dinnae want to make a to-do in the whole monastery, so if he can say I’ll get this taken away.”

“Ach, you might as well come in,” the prior said before he turned to the two friars, who were pasty-faced in the dim light of the lantern. “The two of you bide here to watch and say your beads for his soul whilst you wait.” He glared at Law. “You come wi’ us.”

In the refectory a tall, lean-faced black-robed friar joined them and succinctly established that none of the friars had reported any sounds of a fight or disturbance. When the sergeant asked if he had seen Law before, after a sharp look, he denied it. The sergeant tucked his thumbs into the wide leather belt of his official gray gown and rocked on his feet for a moment. “If you have a barrow we can use and could loan me a lay brother, the body must be taken to the tolbooth.”