Simon Beaufort - Murder in the Holy City

“What peculiar things you say sometimes,” said Roger. “Perhaps the killer did not have time to select something more to your approval. Perhaps it was the first weapon that came to hand.”

“And I would not tie a knot in it,” said Geoffrey, staring down at the corpse. He took Dunstan’s head in his hands and moved it about. “His neck is broken! Look at how his head moves on his neck.”

Roger leaned over him, fascinated. “God’s teeth, Geoffrey! He was hanged, not strangled at all!”

They looked at each other in puzzlement, before turning their attention back to the corpse.

“Come on,” said Roger urgently. “The Patriarch will be here any moment. What else can you tell?”

Geoffrey looked at Dunstan’s hands. “His wrists are unmarked, so his hands were not tied, and his fingernails are unbroken. Thus, he did not struggle against the rope around his neck.” He looked at the end of the rope he still held. “And this has been cut.”

A thunder of footsteps on the stairs heralded the arrival of the Patriarch and his officers.

“Anything else?” asked Roger urgently. “The Patriarch might not want this investigated in too much detail. Who knows-a man killed in his own scriptorium? Dunstan might even have been killed by him.”

“He has not been dead too long, or he would be stiff.” Geoffrey rose as the Patriarch entered.

The Patriarch, Daimbert, was a tall man, slightly stooped, with a cap of pale silver hair smoothed neatly into place with scented goose grease. His expression was perpetually kind, and he always held his hands clasped in front of him in a way that Geoffrey imagined bishops should. Yet, behind his beneficence was both a will of iron and remarkable energy, and there seemed little he would not do to secure power and lands for the Church. Even his friendship with Tancred-who entered the scriptorium in Daimbert’s wake-was in the interest of the Church, for Tancred’s allegiance to the Patriarch weakened the Advocate’s authority.

There were, however, rumours about the Patriarch that were far less flattering. It was said that he was vain, ambitious, and not entirely free from corruption. Two years previously, he had served as papal legate to the King of Castille, and there were those who wondered how many of the gifts that the King had sent to the Pope had actually reached His Holiness, and how many had remained in Daimbert’s personal coffers.

Now Daimbert looked down at the dead monk and began to mutter prayers for the dead. He did not look especially moved, but the Crusaders had murdered and massacred themselves a bloody path through a huge chunk of the world, and death was nothing new to any of them. The gaggle of monks behind him crossed themselves and began their own prayers, a disjointed babble of voices, some shocked, some sincere, others merely curious. And one, perhaps, guilty, satisfied, or relieved?

When Daimbert’s prayers were completed, he raised his silver head and looked questioningly at Geoffrey.

“Brother Marius came to us,” the knight explained. “He said Dunstan had been killed, and we came to investigate.”

“On whose authority do you come?” queried Daimbert softly. Only the Advocate had the authority to burst unannounced into the Patriarch’s Palace-Bohemond and Tancred, despite their allegiance to Daimbert, certainly did not. It did not take an astute man to detect that an illegal invasion of his property would not be tolerated by the Patriarch, and Geoffrey sensed he was on dangerous ground.

Geoffrey felt Tancred’s eyes boring into him, willing him to discretion, but he did not look away from Daimbert’s steady gaze.

“The Advocate’s authority, my lord,” replied Geoffrey politely. He was aware of Tancred’s surprise, but still addressed himself to Daimbert. Daimbert, meanwhile, turned to indicate Tancred with an elegant gesture of his beringed hand.

“But you are Lord Tancred’s man, are you not?”

“Sir Geoffrey has leave to serve my interests however he sees fit,” Tancred intervened smoothly. Geoffrey was relieved, for he was uncertain how he would have answered without revealing that he was already investigating the matter for Tancred, something he sensed Tancred wanted kept from the Patriarch.

Daimbert slowly turned to Tancred. “Is that so? But it is suspicious, is it not, that your man, who freely admits working for the Advocate without your knowledge or permission, comes to my palace and is found standing over the corpse of one of the few men who know details of these peculiar murders?”

The silence in the room was absolute. Geoffrey looked from Daimbert to Tancred and wondered how he had let himself become embroiled in the petty politics of warring lords who wanted power and possessions at any cost. Melisende Mikelos had been right to fear the justice of men like the Advocate and the Patriarch.

“However,” Daimbert continued in his soft voice, addressing Geoffrey, “you did not come in stealth, and my captain assures me that Dunstan was already dead when you arrived. I suppose we can deduce you are not responsible for his death. You say Brother Marius came to you?”

Geoffrey nodded, not wanting to add that the scribe had fled the palace because he feared the murderer might still prowl within its walls.

“And what can you tell us about Dunstan’s death?” Daimbert continued.

“Very little,” said Geoffrey truthfully. “A rope was tied around his neck, and he died.” He indicated the body on the floor with his hand. “When we came, he was lying across the desk, looking as though he had been sitting at it when he died, and had slumped forward.”

“And you moved him to the floor?”

Geoffrey nodded. Daimbert stooped to look at the face of his dead monk and sighed. “It is a pity. Dunstan had the best hand in Jerusalem, and I am in great need of scribes with good writing. Especially ones that can be trusted.”

He glanced back at the monks behind him, not looking at anyone in particular, but causing a great deal of shuffling and blushing. He waited until they had grown silent again, and dismissed them with a wave of a hand that was more contemptuous than paternal. When the last of them had clattered down the stairs to discuss the murder in excited tones in the room below, Daimbert turned to Tancred.

“I am an agent short, and you seem to trust this man. Will you lend him to me to look into this business?”

For once, Tancred was caught by surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Eventually, he puffed out his cheeks and nodded reluctantly.

“Good.” Daimbert became businesslike. “You and I are of the same mind. These murders are more than they seem, and I fear that those who are committing these crimes are aiming to undermine the security of our Kingdom here. There are so many against us: the Saracens, the Jews, the Greeks. Not everyone is content with the rule of our Advocate, and this may be a personal attack against him. He obviously believes so, if he has arranged for the matters to be investigated.” Daimbert paused. “I am not asking you to serve two masters Sir Geoffrey; I am simply asking that you pass anything you discover about this affair to me as well as to the Advocate. Preferably to me first.”

Geoffrey glanced at Tancred, and caught his almost imperceptible nod. Geoffrey wondered when this would stop, and how many more Holy Land princes would attempt to secure his services before the business was resolved. Perhaps he should save the others the trouble and volunteer. There was still Tancred’s uncle Bohemond, and doubtless the Greek, Saracen, and Jewish communities would appreciate a well-placed ear.

Daimbert saw his hesitation and misunderstood. He drew a great ruby ring from his finger and held it out to Geoffrey. “You will appreciate that I do not carry much of value around with me in the night, but you may have this. And I will give you another two of similar value when you solve these wicked crimes.”