J. Tomlin - The Templar's Cross

Law heard the prior give a tsk. “But…why?” the prior said.

“I must send for the lord sheriff, so he can hold an inquest the morrow.” He rocked again, frowning in thought.

“I’ll see to it, and if you send me word of the hour of the inquest, I’ll bring you any news that I learn. But he needs to be buried properly. It’s an ill thing to keep him from the proper rites.”

“The lord sheriff will see to that. The coins and the weapon should pay for a decent burying at the kirk.”

The subprior briskly said that he’d send for a barrow.

The sergeant gave the men a respectful bow. “I’ll send word when the inquest will be, Father. I’m afeart you’ll need to appear.”

He raised his hand, blessed them, and saw them to the door to close it firmly behind them.

“I’ll return to my rooms. I assume I shall be needed when the lord sheriff takes an inquest into the matter,” Law said, walking beside the sergeant as it would get him through the town gates that had long since closed. He wanted off his aching leg in the solitude of his room.

“Aye, that he shall,” the man said sternly. “There is a stiff fine for nonappearance before the assize. The bellman will cry it so see that you appear.”

Law grunted an assent as the sergeant yelled for the watch to open a gate for them. He had much to think over before the inquest. Would it help to find Duncan’s murderer if he told them about de Carnea? And how would his employer react to being dragged into an inquest? Would someone else come forward with some clues to the killing?

The next morning, not yet having had a chance to seek out Blinsele, Law made his way east along High Street. In the distance, a tall stone gate scowled above the bridge over the River Tay. To the west were the High Gate and the road through the hills into the Highlands. To the south was Speygate, where the homes of the lords were guarded by the glowering Spey Tower. But it was in the dour, massive, gray stone Tolhouse before him where men and women were judged.

The main hall of the tolbooth was two stories high with a broad arched doorway so large a loaded wagon could have passed through. Above the door, there was a tapestry of a battle where a lord thrust his spear through an enemy’s breast and blood flowed like wine. The lord looked like he was enjoying himself.

He’d never before had reason to enter the building, though he’d passed it often enough. He ran a hand nervously over his hilt. Blaming him for the murder would be an easy solution, and the sergeant had looked suspicious enough, but that he’d not been immediately dragged off in chains gave him hope.

Sir William Ruthven of Balkernoch, Lord Sheriff of the burgh, an older man, past forty, balding but with shoulders like a bull, in a lustrous azure velvet houppelande lined with marten fur, stood on a dais at one end of the main room where most burgh’s business was conducted. The table before him was littered with parchments. A clerk scurried up, his pen-case and inkhorn rattling at his belt, and Sir William made a motion for the man to take his place at the far end of the table. Narrow doors at the back of the hall beyond the dais must lead to the offices where burghers held meetings and accounts of the city were compiled, Law realized. He had heard of the dungeons in the lowest level where lawbreakers were held.

Half a dozen armed men with the red and white of the house of Ruthven on their breast stood around the room, in addition to two of the burgh’s watchmen. Law waited near the open doors.

A cold wind swept in when a couple of well-dressed guildsmen in dark colors of good, solid broadcloth entered, Wulle Cullen, Law’s landlord, amongst them, divested of his apron. At Wulle’s shoulder, Cormac stood, with a wry smile behind a half curtain of hair, as out of place with the stolid burghers as a brightly colored finch amongst crows. Beyond the door, Law caught sight of the slate-gray sky where pillars of light flowed from the hidden sun. Then a stream of burghers followed, stamping mud from their feet and muttering uneasily. The broad room was crowded by the time the sergeant signaled a watchman to shut the door. It banged closed.

The buzz of speculation and comment filled the room but most kept their distance from the two cloth-draped trestles topped with man-shaped lumps and eyed them uneasily. One of the shapes was larger than the other, the size Duncan had been, but the other… Law frowned in puzzlement. Why were there two bodies? Between the two tables, a brazier gave off smoke from herbs to mask the growing stink. A constable watched at the head of each table.

Sir William surveyed the gathering men and scowled. “Sergeant, this is enow to form the assize. On with it.”

Sergeant Meldrum climbed the steps onto the dais and shouted for order. The buzz of voices continued to he stepped to the podium table and slammed his fist down. He called men by name. The first two were approved for the assize with no dispute but then Gilbert Litster was accused of refusing to sell goods to the council. Voices were raised and an argument ensued that made Law quietly sigh. When it was at last settled that the man was disallowed, and after several more names were called, another dispute raged. An hour later they at last had fifteen men for an assize agreed. Law wished he knew any of them. It was for the assize to decide the manner of death. That it was murder, of course, was no doubt, but they could also name a murderer to be brought to trial and he meant that not to be him. He eyed Sir William, who was rumored to be angry at having been sent as a hostage in England for King James’s release and had only been recently released.

The assize filed to a side of the room set off by a low rail and raised their hands for the oath. At last, Sir William cleared his throat and announced that two bodies has been found the night before, so it was their duty to ascertain who the dead men were, how they had died, and if it was possible, to determine who should be held responsible. Some of the men in the assize as well as a few of the dozen onlookers were giving Law sidelong looks.

The sergeant thrust his chin toward Law. “This man found thon body. He claims to be a knight, Sir Law by name.”

At the Lord Sheriff’s prompting Law named the body as his friend Duncan Leslie and gave the same account of planning to meet him to go to an inn and stumbling over his body.

“So you kent him well?” the Lord Sheriff asked.

Law shrugged. “Not so gey well, but we’d both been in service in France, I to the late Lord Archibald, Earl of Douglas and Duke of Touraine, and he to the Earl of Buchan, so when we returned and both were in Perth ’twas natural that we would meet for a drink now and then.”

Only at the last moment had Law been sure he would conceal they’d been seeking de Carnea. Until he knew more about what had happened, he had a gut feeling it was best to keep what he knew to himself, especially since it would not say who the murderer was.

“You’d had no hard words between you? No disagreement?”

Law gave a brief shake of his head. “Nor do I carry a dagger. The sergeant can testify that I had none last eve.” He dropped a hand on the hilt of his sword. “My blade would have made a larger wound than that.”

“We should see the wound, then.”

From the front of the assizers, a middling man in a blue cloak and felt hat spoke up. “Have him lay a hand on the corpse. They say a murderer’s hand will cause the blood to flow.”

Sir William nodded. “It cannae hurt. And I want to see the wound for myself.”

Law squared his shoulders and strode to jerk back the sheet. Duncan’s jaw had lolled open, the belly already beginning to swell. His skin was a pallid gray. The stink of the body almost choked him, even though he breathed through his mouth. He laid a hand on the cold chest above the narrow wound and looked at the assizer who had demanded he touch it. “You can see, it was made with a weapon mayhap-” He paused to frown at the wound. “-certes less than two inches wide. I own no such dagger, though one would be common enow. Many dirks are such.”