Season of the Raven (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 1) (9 page)

Brother Colin nodded. "Aye, and since they did dry, we can assume his wound oozed for some time. This one had no choice but to wait until it ceased. If he didn't wish the means of Halbert's death to be discovered, then he couldn't risk the wound leaving a telling bloodstain on Halbert's shirt or tunic."

"Just so," Faucon said, then pointed to the race. "After Halbert's wound ceased oozing, he was carried back here, washed clean by the race and redressed. The brake was released, Halbert was lowered into the water and swept under the wheel. Once he was lodged, the brake was reset. Then Halbert's killer retired, going to his nightly rest, convinced he had misled us all. He expected today's inquest to render only one verdict—that the besotted miller had fallen into his race and been drowned under his own wheel."

With that, Faucon offered Colin a respectful bend of his head. "And that is what would have happened here today, if not for you, Brother. I would never have recognized the meaning of the miller's cloudy eyes, and would have done Halbert and his family an unwitting injustice. I am most grateful for your aid."

The monk smiled. "Then I give thanks that our Lord sent me your way this day. I'm glad I could assist you, and even more pleased to have met you, Sir Crowner. I don't doubt you'll find the man who did this to the miller."

Then the monk paused and cocked his head to the side. "I do have one thought, though. As much trouble as we had trying to undress the miller when he was dead, could all this have been accomplished by one man alone?"

Faucon's gaze flew to what he could see of the miller's cottage. In that oversized house lived the wife Halbert had abused and a son who did not grieve for him. Who else had cause to wish Halbert dead? Who else had the tool that opened the brake on the wheel so it could be used to conceal what had really happened here?

Almost as swiftly, certainty faded. That made no sense. If Halbert were declared drowned by his millwheel, the wheel would be named deodand and confiscated. As Stephen had said, the cost of replacing the millwheel might well drive him to the brink of poverty, if not completely ruin him.

As for Agnes, while her bruises certainly gave her cause to wish her husband dead, it was clear her new freedom had come at a price. By Stephen's words, she was now without hearth and home. Faucon doubted her stepson would let her leave Priors Holston with a farthing more than she'd brought with her into her marriage, no matter what dower Halbert might have endowed upon her in their marriage contract. Indeed, he suspected she'd have to bring a plea for her dower to the royal court before Stephen gave it to her.

But most importantly, according to the fuller, neither Agnes nor Stephen had been at the mill last night to do the deed.

If not the miller's family, then who? Whoever it was must hate the miller and his kin with all his heart, for he'd concocted an elaborate scheme calculated to not only kill Halbert but destroy his family's livelihood.

"I need to find the place where Halbert bled his last," Faucon said, the huntsman in him demanding it. "I think it must be close by, but I guarantee it won't seem instantly obvious that a man died there." The care taken by the one who killed Halbert assured Faucon of that.

As he spoke, Alf and three others walked around the corner of the mill to stop across the race from them. The miller's servant looked at Brother Colin. "Will you speak for me, Brother? Please tell the knight that his clerk sends us to bring my master's body to the courtyard so the viewing may begin."

Faucon clenched his teeth, biting off the urge to shout in rage. Once more, Edmund trod where he had no right to step. This had to stop.

"Go as you must," Drue said to him, "leaving your search to me and my apprentice. We've already viewed Halbert and give our oaths that, before God, we hereby render the verdict of murder, with you as our witness. Oh, and if Stephen complains about his father's tunic, pay him no heed. Don't tell him, but I've a mind to repair it at no charge, given the importance of what lay hidden beneath the cloth. Perhaps with a little haggling, I can convince him my work is worth his grinding at least half of my grain at no cost," he added with a wink.

Faucon offered the tailor his thanks, then turned to Brother Colin. "Will you come with the miller's body for the viewing, to offer your explanations if required?"

"I will," the monk replied.

With that, Faucon looked at Alf, a man strong enough to lift Halbert without the aid of those he'd brought to help him this time. It remained to be seen if Alf was a man capable of carrying the besotted miller to the place of his death, then putting a dead Halbert into the race.

"Take up your master and bring him to the mill yard," Faucon commanded the workman.

Then, stepping across the race to make room for Alf and the others to do what they must, Faucon turned his back to the wheel and entered the mill's courtyard.

A makeshift catafalque, nothing more than a few planks of wood atop four barrels, now stood at the center of the yard near the entry gate. The mill towered over it, built as it was on a stone foundation half as tall as Faucon. Perhaps the additional height was needed to protect the building and its precious machinery from flood. Whatever the reason, the result was that the door to the mill stood high enough over the yard that three steps were needed to reach it. The top step widened into a spacious wooden porch before the door. It was here that Edmund sat, having claimed this space as his temporary scriptorium. His flask of ink, his knife and the container for his quills, as well as a bound roll of parchment, were all neatly arranged along the porch edge.

Faucon came to a stop at the base of the steps. His clerk set aside the short length of wood that presently served as his desk, then descended to join his new master in the yard.

"The time has come to begin the viewing," Edmund announced to his better.

"Is that so?" Faucon retorted, his voice low. "I don't recall commanding that."

His clerk blinked in surprise. "You haven't yet, but now you will. You must. This is how all inquests must be. Once we have recorded the oaths of those who swear to the miller's Englishry, as I have just finished doing, the time arrives for jury to view the body of the deceased. Until each man has seen the corpse and confirmed the manner of Halbert Miller's death, none may leave."

"
I
have not commanded the viewing to begin because
I
am not yet ready to do so," Faucon retorted, his eyes narrowed and his voice hard. As he spoke, he leaned even closer to the monk, his hand resting on his sword hilt.

A startled Edmund took a backward step, his gaze darting between Faucon's face and his weapon. "But you must begin now," the monk cried, almost pleading. "I vow if we don't, we'll be here all night waiting for so many to do as the law requires."

The logic in his words punctured Faucon's outraged pride. Edmund was right. It was almost midday and there were so many men waiting here. Who knew how long it might be before the place where Halbert bled his last was found? If Faucon delayed the viewing until then, it was entirely possible night could fall before the jurors were released.

Faucon eyed his clerk, pride battling common sense. "Brother Edmund, I concede your point," he said at last, his words stiff. "I also concede that I have much to learn from you. But it will not serve either of us if you persist in your present manner. Take caution to do no more than remind me of what is mine to do. Know that you command me at your peril."

Edmund made a sound that suggested ancient frustration, then pressed a fist against his temple as if his head ached. "But remind you is what I did," he protested, honest confusion filling his dark eyes. "Did I not send Alf to you so you could command him to bring the miller's body for the viewing?"

Irritation hissed from Faucon on a sigh as his pride admitted defeat. His hand opened over his hilt. Once again, he surveyed Edmund's writing tools on the porch. This time, his eye told him they weren't just neatly arranged. Nay, each piece stood precisely a hand's breadth from the next. In that precision, Faucon thought he understood Edmund's honest tongue and rigid world. Edmund found comfort and certainty in the exactitude of laws and rules. It was this certainty that gave a simple monk the courage to confront a baron, a bishop and a lord high sheriff, using nothing more than words as his sword and shield.

But like any weapon, Edmund's inflexibility cut both ways. Faucon would have wagered all he owned that his new clerk had once too often insisted that others apply the same rigor to their lives. That was likely how Edmund ended up without a house and trapped in his new position, one he considered a penance.

"I accept your explanation," Faucon said, turning what had not been a plea for pardon into an apology, "and agree that we must now begin the viewing."

Edmund's sigh was heartfelt. His face relaxed. "Now remember, all must pass by the dead miller. That doesn't mean they can mob the body, shoot a glance at Halbert and hurry on. Each man is required by law to look, and this should be done in an orderly fashion. That said, neither can any man linger for an unseemly time, else all the others will be delayed."

Apparently, Edmund meant to pretend as if nothing had gone awry between them. Faucon wondered if the monk expected that to serve as his apology. Although hardly polite, it was reasonable. Considering that attention to their duty was of prime importance at the moment, Faucon could tolerate reasonable, as long as Edmund neither gloated nor sulked. Such were the emotions not-Will ever aimed at Faucon, that was, when his brother wasn't swimming in his usual sea of sullen resentment.

"Good advice," Faucon said, then returned his attention to the mill yard as the men within it suddenly quieted.

Alf and his aides passed through their midst, carrying Halbert to the catafalque. Once the dead miller lay atop the planks, the crowd pulled back, men and boys arranging themselves in a cautious circle around their deceased neighbor. Brother Colin came to stand near Halbert's head. Stephen trailed after the smaller monk, stopping a short distance from the foot of his father's bier. Faucon kept his gaze on Halbert's son. If the mill's new master had any reaction to the wound that had ended his father's life, Faucon wanted to note it.

"Tell me this," he asked of Edmund without looking at his clerk. "As these men view the body, is it the law that we must point out to them the wound that caused the miller's death?"

"There is no need to show a wound unless it is clear that this was the injury that did cause death. Since Halbert's crushed shoulder and now-broken arm did not kill him, it isn't worthy of note," Edmund replied, his pedantic tone another reminder of the tutors Faucon had so despised in his youth. "You must only tell your witnesses to confirm the cause of the miller's death. You must say that he was drowned under his wheel, as I have already noted in our record."

Faucon shot the clerk a swift sidelong look. "You have already written that he drowned? Then ply your knife and scrape off those words, for they are mistaken."

Edmund's eyes flew wide. "I will not!" he protested, his voice rising in complaint. "I cannot. I am required to note the truth, and we all saw that Halbert had drowned."

"Did we?" Faucon asked with a quiet laugh, then crossed the yard to stand at the left side of Halbert's bier.

He scanned the ranks of the waiting men and boys, thinking to gather their attention. It wasn't necessary. To a one they already watched him.

"Come all, and view your deceased neighbor, Halbert the Miller," he called out in their tongue, his voice lifted to a shout so as many as possible could hear him.

"Wait!" Edmund called. "Don't forget to tell them they must swear before God that they will speak the truth if they give any information about the death, and do the same if asked to give any appraisals or assessments regarding the miller's property and the deodand."

Faucon looked at his clerk with a frown. "I think they cannot all hear me. If they cannot hear me, how will they all know to swear?"

That made Edmund blink in surprise. His mouth opened, but there seemed to be no answer on his tongue.

"We know what must be done," Alf said. "Ask for the oath. As those too far back to hear your voice catch the sound of the oaths being given, they will add their own vow to those that already ring out from in here."

"So it must be," Faucon replied, uncomfortable with this. How could an oath be true if the one demanding the oath couldn't hear the response of those who swore? Then again, who was he to question? Perhaps it was up to God to punish the foresworn.

"Swear before God that any assessments and information regarding Halbert Miller's death or his property you give will be honest and true," he demanded at the top of his lungs.

"I so swear!" The words rolled like distant thunder across the mill yard, then echoed out into the miller's croft and over the race into the fuller's yard. A final and faint retort came from the lane that ran before the miller's cottage.

Faucon nodded. "Then come all you jurors and view Halbert the Miller. You must look upon the wound that killed him, then confirm my verdict that he was murdered by persons yet unknown."