Herbs sweetened his noisome stink. Candles burned at his head and feet, throwing a flickering light over the last remains of the abbey’s ill-fated rent collector.
When the door opened, Abbot Serlo led his visitor in, pausing to offer up a silent prayer before he reached down to pull back the shroud. Ralph Delchard looked down at the naked body with mingled sadness and interest. Brother Nicholas was a plump man in his forties with a pasty complexion which owed nothing to the pallor of death and a body of unusual whiteness, allowing blue veins to show through on his chest. The body was almost entirely devoid of hair. What Ralph noticed was the absence of any real muscle in the arms and legs. Here was one monk who had not toiled in the fields or taken on one of the more physically demanding tasks at the abbey. Soft white hands confirmed that Brother Nicholas was a stranger to strenuous exercise.
The thickness of the bandaging showed how comprehensively the throat had been cut but there were no other marks of violence upon him. Ralph studied the face: big, round, podgy but surprisingly untouched by the march of time. Even in repose, there was a religiosity about the man. It was a quality which Ralph had never been able to understand or to appreciate but Brother Nicholas seemed to possess it. He reached out to feel the spindly legs and the weak forearms then he pulled the shroud back over the body and turned to his companion.
‘Not a strong man,’ he commented. ‘Brother Nicholas would not have been able to put up much resistance.’
‘We are monks, my lord, not soldiers.’
‘Even a monk should fight to save his life.’
‘He entrusts its safety to God.’
‘Then the Almighty was lax in his vigilance here.’
‘Do not presume to question divine dispensation.’
‘I dare not. Canon Hubert is an example of it.’
‘Let us step outside again.’
Abbot Serlo guided him out of the mortuary and back into the fresh air. Both inhaled deeply. Their long conversation had persuaded the abbot that Ralph’s help in solving the crime might be extremely useful but he wished that his visitor could take a more reverential approach. He was not quite as brusque and headstrong as the sheriff but his attitude towards the Benedictine Order had worrying similarities.
‘I must leave you, my lord,’ said the abbot. ‘Other duties await me.’
‘It was kind of you to spare me so much time.’
‘Repay me by finding the murderer.’
‘I will, my lord abbot. The more information I have, the easier the task will be. Do not forget your promise to give me a list of all of the tenants from whom Brother Nicholas collected rents.’
‘Canon Hubert will bring it to you in due course.’
‘Thank you.’
‘What will you do now?’
‘Go back to the church.’
‘Why?’
‘To pray for the salvation of Brother Nicholas’s soul,’ said Ralph.
‘A worthy motive.’
‘It was something I omitted to do on my first visit there. Having seen the body, I am anxious to repair that omission.’
‘Then I will not detain you, my lord.’
Ralph waved a farewell and headed back to the abbey church, untroubled by guilt at having to conceal the real purpose of his return visit. Pleased to find the church empty, he approached the altar rail and knelt before it, offering up the prayer for the murdered man and feeling a genuine surge of grief on his behalf.
It soon passed. Ralph made sure that nobody was watching him before moving up to the altar to borrow one of the large candles which burned there. He bore it off to the bell tower and carried it carefully up the ladder.
Having viewed the body, he, too, was having second thoughts about his earlier theory. It was not that Brother Nicholas was too heavy for him to bear. He simply doubted that the rungs of the ladder would cope with the additional weight. Ralph got up to the wooden platform and used the flame to illumine every section of it. The blood was more vivid by candlelight and its extent far greater. It was when he went to the other side of the bell that he made an interesting new discovery. Holding the candle beneath the beam, he ducked his head so that he could actually see the two hooks which he had earlier felt with his fingers. Something else caught his eye. Lying directly below the beam was a small, thin strip of leather. Ralph picked it up and laid it on his palm to inspect it.
After a thorough search, he slowly descended the ladder, glad that he had taken the trouble to pay a second visit to the murder scene. He pondered on the significance of the strip of leather and was far too preoccupied to realise that he was being watched from the shadows. Wide-eyed and tremulous, Owen, the novice, stayed hidden until Ralph had walked back to the altar. The boy took a last fearful look up at the bell tower then slipped quietly out. Tears coursed freely down his hot rosy cheeks.
‘When do you expect your sister to arrive?’ asked the lady Maud.
‘Almost any day now,’ said Golde.
‘Is that why you were so keen to accompany your husband?’
‘It was one of the reasons, though I would willingly go wherever Ralph asked me to go. I love to be near him.’
‘I enjoy Durand’s company but I have to put up with less of it.
When he goes away from Gloucester, I am never invited to go with him.’ Maud shook her head sadly. ‘I have endured some lonely weeks at the castle. The worst of it is that my husband is so secretive about his work. Most of the time, he will not even tell me where he is going, simply that he has to leave on urgent business.’
‘Being a sheriff carries huge responsibilities.’
‘We have learned that,’ said the other with a rueful smile. ‘The honour was thrust unexpectedly on Durand when his brother, Roger, died before his time. My husband feels that he has a sacred duty to carry on where his brother left off.’
‘That is to his credit.’
Golde found the visit to Gloucester interesting and enlightening.
When her companion had shaken off her irritation, she was friendly and talkative and had clearly taken the trouble to learn something of the city’s history. Some of the glances which they collected along the way were tinged either with bitterness or envy but they ignored them for the most part. It was only when Golde heard some harsh words muttered in her own language that she flushed with discomfort. On the leisurely ride back to the castle, they were conversing more easily with each other.
‘What did you say your sister’s name was?’
‘Aelgar, my lady.’
‘And this young man?’
‘Forne.’
‘When are they to be married?’
‘I do not know,’ said Golde. ‘I am hoping that my sister will tell me. All she has said in her letters is that she loves him dearly and wishes to spend the rest of her life with him. And since Forne, apparently, feels the same way about her, it sounds like a promising start for any marriage.’
‘Promising starts sometimes end in disappointment.’
‘Not in their case, I hope.’
‘So do I,’ said Maud, her cynicism tempered with goodwill. ‘But where will they stay? Room could be found for them at the castle.’
‘That is very kind of you, my lady, but they have already reserved accommodation. Forne, it seems, has a kinsman in Gloucester and they will stay under his roof. The truth is,’ she said quietly, ‘that Aelgar would feel out of place in a Norman castle. Even though she has been supplying the one in Hereford with its beer.’
Maud gave a sudden laugh. ‘Is your sister really a brewer?’
‘It runs in the family, my lady,’ explained Golde. ‘I took over the business after the death of my first husband then handed it on to Aelgar when I left. Not that she has to work in the way that I did. Thanks to the judgement of the commissioners, Aelgar inherited property on her own account. She can afford to employ others to brew the beer for her now.’
‘What of her betrothed?’
‘His interest is only in drinking it.’
Maud laughed again as they clattered across the drawbridge and went in through the gate. She gave their escort a wave of gratitude, allowing the four men to trot off in the direction of the stables. Maud looked up at the keep with a determination tinged with anger.