by J. R. Tomlin
“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.”
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?
3
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?”
&n
bsp; 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.”
Sir William leaned back in his chair for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Meldrum, you say his belongings had not been stolen?”
“I would say not.” He glanced at Law. “Did he have aught that was missing the last time you saw him alive, Law?”
Law shrugged. “There is no way for me to be certain, but his sword was in his scabbard and coins in his purse. What thief would leave those behind?”
The member of the assize was scowling at Law. “If no one else knew him save you, who else would have killed him?”
Law had known this was coming. How could it not? He carefully pulled the sheet back over the ashen face before he answered. “We had both been back in Scotland a month and in Perth nearly so long, long enow for Duncan to have quarreled or made gambling debts.” He fastened a steady gaze on Sir William’s face and twitched one shoulder in a slight shrug. “In truth, he was given to both, though no more than some others more accustomed to battle than peace. Or mayhap he or his kin had enemies from before he was in France. But he saved my life in France, and I had no reason to kill him.”
The Lord Sheriff stared at him for another moment and gave a short nod. Several of the men of the assize met his eyes and even the others looked thoughtful, so Law clasped his hands behind his back, being sure to look respectful. He needed them on his side.
The sergeant called the prior, who firmly stated that none of the brothers or priests at Blackfriars had seen Duncan or heard any struggle. After his brief testimony and a courteous dismissal from Sir William, the prior made his way through the crowd to wait near the door at the rear of the crowd.
Sir William nodded to Law with a grim look. “Now pull back the sheet on the other corpse. That must be considered as well.”
At a table a few feet below the foot of the one holding Duncan’s body, Law pulled the sheet down to the man’s waist. He sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth. The slash across the man’s plump neck was vicious, and his white-blond curls were clotted with black blood. Law schooled his face to stillness as he considered that following a dead man would be easy work for which he’d already been partially paid.
“Does anyone here ken who this man is?” Sir William asked.
Law took a step back and thrust his thumbs into his belt. A murmur rippled through the room, and he silently shook his head that he didn’t know the man. A chill went through him, and his mind raced. Could it have been Blinsele? That seemed to make no sense. Blinsele’s supposed wife or her lover, though Law had serious doubts about the truth of that story, could have killed Duncan to hide their presence. Or was it a third person Law had no idea of?
The sergeant cleared his throat for attention. “The watch found the body after daybreak at the foot of the Tay Bridge. He was already cold and stiffening. His purse was empty, but whether he had coin before he was attacked, who can say?” He motion to a pile of clothes topped with a blue woolen cloak, all held down by a dagger. “His clothes were braw. He was no beggar.”
Sir William’s scowl deepened. “Yon clothes and the dagger would have been worth coin, and in the dark at least his cloak would have been easily taken.” He looked at the sergeant. “There is surely no possibility he would have been dead before nightfall.”
The sergeant, who Law was beginning to think might have at least a few more brains than most sergeants he had met, shook his head. “Someone would have seen him. The body had completely stiffened when we found it, which had not yet passed. I believe he might have been killed about nightfall.” He looked at the body thoughtfully. “Probably not much later than that. Before the other, yon Duncan, I would say.”
The bridge over the Tay was no more than a twenty-minute walk from Blackfriars Abbey and the alley where Duncan had died. Both done with small blades, but that did not necessarily mean the same hand had wielded them, one a slashed neck, the other stabs to the breast.
The assizer at the front of the group demanded, looking at Law, “You dinnae ken this one? You’re sure of it?”
“I’m sure I ne’er saw the man alive. He does nae look like a Scot to me. I ne’er saw a Scot with that color hair.” Law chewed his lower lip as he reconsidered how much he should tell as Sir William grunted in agreement. He felt an itch between his shoulder blades. Someone was free with a knife who might decide he knew too much. Changing his story now would look too suspicious, Law decided. He shrugged. “Mayhap it would be worth asking at the inns and monastery guesthouses if they’ve had a guest by his description. There canna be many such hereabout.”
Sir William said, “Yet you have been out of Scotland, so you could have met someone with such coloring.”
“He could be English,” one of the assizers with the heavy shoulders of a maister of the smith’s guild said.
Law made his face blank with boredom. “No. I ne’er saw this one there whilst I was out of the kingdom, and I’d ne’er take him for a knight or soldier.” Law turned over the stiffened hand to show the soft, well-tended palm. He then held up his own with its callused palm. “He is no fighter, and I’d not take him for a cleric in yon clothes.” Law thrust his chin at the stack of bright silk and velvet at the foot of the table. “It seems to me the first thing is to find out if anyone has seen him about Perth. Someone must have. I shall check at Whitefriars for you, if you like.” That would cover that he’d already been there.
“Guesses achieve nothing,” Sir William rapped out. “Does anyone have any knowledge to put forward?” When there was a nervous silence in response to his question, he turned his head to the assize. “Do any of you have any questions to put?”
“When did you agree to tryst for a drink with that one?” The hammersmith pointed toward Duncan. “Did anyone see the two of you to say you were not quarreling?”
“He came up to my room above Cullen’s tavern well after Sext rang. I suppose Wulle Cullen might be able to tell you…?”
The innkeeper crossed his arms and nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, the man had been in my inn a handful of times. I cannae say I kent his name. I recall that he went up to Sir Law’s room yesterday and it might have been about the time Law said. I was busy with my own business and didnae note it. When the man came down he had a bowl of my goodwoman’s broth and left. If anything, he seemed more cheerful than before.”
“There is still fighting in France. Would it not have been easier to find a new lord there?” the same man asked.
Law examined the man’s face and wondered what answer would satisfy him. After a moment, he settled on the truth. “I followed the Earl of Douglas there; that was before the French made him a duke. After he was killed, I had no desire to follow a Frenchman. And… It was time to come home.”
The man nodded, and when Sir William asked, there were no more questions. Sir William took a seat in the large chair on the dais that could serve as a throne if the king were in attendance. The sergeant along with one of his men escorted the assizers out of their enclosure and through a rear door to a c
hamber. Their decision behind closed doors would decide if anyone was accused of the murder, and a twinge of nerves at the possibility that they might yet accuse him made Law tense.
Wulle Cullen wove his way through the crowd to Law with Cormac sauntering in the innkeeper’s wake.
Wulle shook his head. “Not oft we see two murders in one day. There’s a good crowd here, curious about the outcome.”
Law grunted. “I suppose.”
Cormac muttered, “Even less often the murderer doesn’t dump the body in the Tay.”
“Wheest, Cormac, mind your place,” Wulle scolded and got a glare for his trouble. “I wonder if they will take long. You’d think they wouldn’t have much to consider.”
“I suppose they must consider if it was I who did the deed.” He breathed a soft laugh. “I’ve killed more than a few in battles, but I’m no murderer.” They’d seemed convinced of his innocence, and yet…how could one be sure?
“Ach, with so many of our men fighting the English in France, more than a few have done that.” The innkeeper slapped Law’s shoulder. “This testifying is thirsty work. I’ll draw you a mug of ale when we bide at home and no charge to you.”
“That’s kind of you.”
A thin, wiry man, shoulders slumped and dark, greasy locks of hair hanging over his eyes, had sidled close. Law tilted his head to give the man a considering look.
“Go on wi’ you,” Wulle barked.
As Law stared after him, the man darted back into the onlookers. “Who was that?” he asked the other two men.
Cormac scowled dramatically. “What? No ale for me? You’re a tight-fisted man, Wulle.”
Wulle said, “That’s Dave Taylor as he’s called. Mayhap he tailors his clothes from the rats he catches.” Wulle snickered, but his face straightened as he pointed at a door that a guard had pulled open. “Here comes the assize. I thought t’would not take them long.”