Cathedral of Bones Read online

  She was sure he’d been poisoned. He’d fully recovered from his past injuries, then had sickened to death so hard and fast when a strong man like him could fight off any small cold or fever or ague.

  And no one else in the household was sick with similar symptoms.

  As the shock of his passing ebbed, hot fury replaced it. It boiled in her belly and seared her mind. She longed to yell from the ramparts that her husband had been murdered and that she knew exactly who’d done it.

  But she was a mother and had a responsibility to raise her children to adulthood and see them settled safely in their own lives. Maybe then she’d place her neck on the block and tell the truth about everything she suspected and avenge William’s death.

  Until then she sought to cool the rage that burned in her veins and would seek her redress in finding justice for others.

  Like the servants, Ela rose with the dawn, splashed her face with water and dressed without help, though she did let Sibel pin her veil to her barbette and place her pleated fillet on top of the veil.

  She began the day with a quick tour of the inside of the castle. “Michael, please sweep the hearth again and spread the ashes on the path outside.” She’d learned that attention to detail made a huge difference in the day-to-day running of the castle, which was—in its own way—like a stationary army that must be kept polished and ready for battle or fall into disarray.

  “Becca, please remove all the soiled straw from around the tables. And top up with fresh herbs. It smells like an alewife’s kitchen in here.”

  The girl smiled. “Yes, my lady. They certainly were enjoying themselves last night.” Then she paled. “I didn’t mean— It was a very sad occasion.”

  “Don’t worry, Becca. I know exactly what you mean. I’m glad that the men were entertained. My husband would want them to enjoy our hospitality and everyone in the household did honor to his name by making the occasion a success.”

  Becca breathed again. “Yes, my lady. I’ll be sure to scrub and polish the tables again to get the spills out.”

  “Excellent. Thanks for being so thoughtful.” Becca was a kind and hardworking girl, the daughter of a local potter, who’d joined the castle staff when she was fifteen. It would be a sad day for them all when she finally got married and went to run her own household.

  In the castle yard, two boys were shoveling manure deposited by all the visiting horses. “Joseph will be glad of that dung for the kitchen gardens,” she called. “Don’t waste a scrap. It’ll be planting time before we know it.” They all knew what to do but it didn’t hurt to remind them. Every now and then she found a shirker dumping manure in the moat or covering soiled straw with a layer of fresh herbs in the hall. Over the years she’d stripped away some of the layers of command at the castle. She liked to deal directly with even the lowliest members of the household. They’d learned they could talk to her, too, and alert her to anything she should know about. There was far less waste, corruption and mismanagement this way.

  Her mother had been scandalized by Ela’s attention to the minutiae of the household. She felt it was beneath her daughter to share tips with the pot boy or the swineherd, but she had her own affairs to attend to and thus only got to be scandalized a few times a year. In the meantime, Ela enjoyed the benefits of sparkling pots and well-fed swine, balanced books and the security of knowing that all important tasks were well in hand.

  In the kitchen, she congratulated the cook and her staff for preparing a hearty and visually pleasing feast within the constraints of the season.

  The cook grunted. She was a gruff old character who’d been there since before Ela was born. Ela had no idea how old she was. Possibly older than the castle walls. “Spring can’t come soon enough for me, my lady. I’m that tired of dried this and pickled that. I’d give my last tooth for a fresh strawberry from the garden.” She grinned, showing that last tooth.

  Ela smiled. “A few more weeks—God willing—and your wish will come true.”

  “Ground’s hard as iron, yet.”

  “The thaw’s coming.” A vision of the murdered girl, floating in the reeds, swam in her mind. “Spring can’t be far behind.”

  After a breakfast of stewed oats and dried apricots with her children, Ela asked Gerald Deschamps to summon Giles Haughton and the jurors to the castle for a meeting to discuss the dead girl.

  “You are aware, my lady, that these are men of business and may well be detained by their affairs. Perhaps my men could pass a message to them instead?” He lifted a dark brow.

  Ela stiffened. She didn’t want Deschamps trying to insert himself between her and the men of the hundred, who could be called to form a jury. Perhaps he thought that he might be made sheriff since he’d commanded the garrison in her husband’s absence. “I prefer to meet in person with them as a group. Arrange for them to arrive here shortly after Vespers. The day’s business should be in hand by them.”

  She’d set her three oldest children, Will, Isabella and Petronella, to copying the drawing she’d made of the woman’s body. Even with their younger siblings pestering them over the ghastly details and—one of them—begging to see the dead woman’s body, they worked quickly and carefully. They each made copies—in dark ink on parchment—so she could give them to the jurors to circulate around the villages. Hopefully, they could get people talking and they’d learn her identity.

  Shortly before midday she took a copy and asked Will to accompany her into the town on foot. She told herself she didn’t require the presence of a six-foot-tall man, but it didn’t hurt, either.

  They stopped first at the pie shop, one of the busiest establishments within the outer walls. The stout woman behind the counter was bent over her display and started extolling the virtues of the newest pies fresh out of the oven before she even raised her head.

  “I’m afraid I’m not here to buy pie.”

  The woman glanced up and immediately dusted her hands on her apron. “Oh, my lady, I didn’t even half look at you! Of course I know you and the young master. We’re all that sad to hear of your husband’s passing. Won’t you both have a pie on the house?”

  “How very kind of you.” Ela was genuinely touched and had to steady herself against a wave of emotion. “But we already broke our fast.” Will looked as if he was going to protest that he still had room, so she shot him a stern look. “I’m afraid we’re here on another unfortunate matter. The body of a young woman was found floating in the Avon yesterday, and we’re trying to identify her.” She unrolled her drawing and thrust it forward.

  The pie woman peered at the image. “This her likeness, then?”

  “As close as I could make it. She had long dark hair and her age was somewhere between twenty and twenty-five. And she was pregnant.”

  “Oh dear.” She crossed herself. “How tragic. Goodness. She could be half the young wives in the town, though, couldn’t she?”

  “Slim build, a little shorter than myself. Have you heard of anyone who’s gone missing? She might have been gone for weeks. She was frozen into the river ice.”

  “Can’t say I have heard of anyone going missing.” She screwed up her weathered face. “Though I suppose if she was in the river she could have come from miles away.”

  “Indeed. We’re out spreading the news in the hope that someone will know who she is. If you hear anything please call on me at the castle or have a word with one of the jurors. We believe she was killed and we must find the murderer.”

  The old lady’s mouth closed into a small O, and she crossed herself again. “To be sure, my lady.”

  Ela thought it unlikely that anyone would be bold enough to traverse the intimidating ranks of garrisoned soldiers and actually come to call on her personally, so the jurors would be crucial intermediaries, as would putting herself out here where she might hear gossip or news in their midst.

  She rolled up her drawing and headed to the dairy stall, where people went daily for fresh butter and cheese, then the butcher and the chan
dler. Finally, she went to the baker, Peter Howard, who’d found the body.

  The day’s baking was done, and Howard and his apprentice were busy scrubbing down the work surfaces and baking trays. She showed him her drawing and explained her plan that the jurors should spread the news throughout the district, including neighboring towns and villages, in the hope that someone could identify the girl, or at least knew of someone who’d gone missing.

  “I’d say that at least half the people in town know by now and the other half will by the end of the day. But if she was from here, inside the walls, we’d have identified her by now. She must be an outsider.”

  “But even someone from the countryside must come to town for market day from time to time. Someone will know her. Talk to everyone you encounter, and I’ll do the same.”

  Will had grown quiet during their last few encounters, but as they picked their way back up the slippery hill toward the castle walls, he found his voice again. “I’m old enough to be sheriff myself, Mother.”

  “In good time, Will. You shall be sheriff and Earl of Salisbury, but not until you reach your majority.”

  “My grandfather invaded England from France at age fourteen,” he protested.

  “Only because his mother was leading the army.” His great-grandmother was Empress Matilda, and her fiery young son would later be crowned Henry II.

  “She let him fight.”

  “She made a number of questionable choices. You have strength and courage, but you need wisdom to keep the peace. You shall learn the duties of sheriff at my side as my deputy.”

  “Deschamps is the deputy. Besides, Father didn’t raise me to be a squire. He raised me to be a knight.”

  “Would that he had lived to see it happen. And it will, in due time. You must earn it first.” She sighed. “You must never forget that we are all in service to the king, the more so since he’s your first cousin.”

  “Half first cousin. Don’t forget that Papa was the king’s bastard.”

  “Will!” She looked around to see if anyone had heard him speak so crudely of his father. Two guards loitered nearby but gave no sign of having heard. “Mind your words. You’re not young enough to throw them around like a child with his toys. Your father was very close with his royal brothers, be they half brothers or no. When King John was alive your father was rarely home. Sometimes it felt like they were attached at the hip.”

  “And now they’re both gone.” His voice was mournful. “Perhaps I’ll die young, too.”

  “Don’t talk like that! You must pray for a long life to fulfill your duty to your king and country.”

  “Yet be ready to die on a battlefield for them on any given day.” He lifted a brow, and she was relieved to see a glint of humor in his pale blue eyes.

  “Indeed. ’Tis a man’s lot to risk his neck for honor and a mother’s lot to spend hours on her knees praying for his safety.”

  “Why is Papa dead? I’m finally ready to fight with him and he’s gone.” His abject misery pierced her heart. “How are we to go on without him?”

  She drew in an unsteady breath. “We must do our duty to the people of Salisbury. Right now that entails finding out who killed this young woman who lies dead in our mortuary, and I must focus my energies on that. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, and I’ll do my best to assist you.” She could hear the resentment through his polite words. Why did young men think themselves so much more capable than their elders and betters?

  “I’d like to compete in the upcoming tournament at Winchester. I’m old enough.”

  “How can you think of tournaments at a time like this?” She wanted to remind him of his responsibilities to the family, which included not getting killed for sport or badly injured for a few moments of glory. But scolding him wouldn’t help. It would just make him sulk.

  “I’ve been training hard. Bill Talbot says I’m ready.”

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Sibel took Ela’s cloak as they entered the hall. She was glad to see the rushes on the floor refreshed. The foul smell of the body now overwhelmed the smell of spilled ale, which was not an improvement.

  “My lady!” Albert, the elderly porter, came shuffling toward her. His red face and unsteady breathing alarmed her.

  “What’s wrong, Albert?”

  “There’s…” He glanced behind him, and her eyes followed him but the great doors remained closed behind him. “There’s a man here to see you.”

  Chapter 3

  “Who?” Ela felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Surely he wouldn’t have the gall to show himself here when her husband’s body was barely cold in the tomb?

  “A man from down the town, my lady. A rather coarse sort. I told him he can’t just march up to the castle and speak with you, but he insists.”

  “Speak with me about what?”

  “He says his daughter is missing.”

  Ela paled at the thought of having to show that decomposed corpse to the girl’s father. She swallowed hard. “Show him in.”

  She removed her cloak, and Sibel took it away. Ela walked to the sturdy oak chair, raised above the floor on a low wood platform, where her husband used to sit while greeting people for official business. A sense of being an imposter rose inside her as she settled herself into the worn leather seat, but she told herself she was here in the pursuit of justice, and had nothing to apologize for.

  She sat there for a moment, wondering where the visitor was. Then one side of the tall doors opened and the porter returned with an old man. His grey hair was wild from the March winds and his clothes were unusually soiled and ragged. She could see why Albert had paused before letting him in.

  But a good reason for that appeared in the big, gnarled stick he carried in his right hand and that he held a few inches ahead of him as he tapped his way—blindly—across the stone flags of the floor.

  His sightless eyes stared skyward as he made his way down the length of the hall with agonizing slowness, with Albert at his elbow.

  “I am Ela of Salisbury,” she announced as he drew closer. She wanted to ask how he’d made his way here from the town without help, but it didn’t really matter. He’d done it, and he didn’t need to be cosseted with platitudes.

  “Robert Harwich,” he rasped. “At your service, my lady.” He paused, wobbled alarmingly, and bowed. “My regrets on the loss of your lord.”

  “Thank you, Master Harwich.” She blinked, praying that the dead girl wasn’t his daughter. “What brings you here?”

  He shuffled a few steps farther and Albert halted them both at the edge of the platform. “It’s my daughter, my lady.” His grimy face scrunched into a strange expression. “Gone missing, she has.”

  “When?” If she’d just gone missing then she couldn’t be the body, which had been dead and in the water for some time.

  “Some weeks ago.” He shook his hoary head. “Used to come visit me every few days. Then one day she didn’t come any more.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Katie. Katherine.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “In the new town. I have a blacksmith shop. Been there since the town was but a crossroads, but since I lost my sight nigh on five years ago I’m reduced to making buckles to make ends meet.”

  “And Katie lives near you?”

  “No, my lady. She lived out across the fields on a farm. That’s why I haven’t been able to go look for her. It’s a frightful long walk across the water meadows and boggy, too. I could barely make my way here on the beaten track in my condition.”

  “Who does she live with?”

  “Her husband.” He squeezed his sightless eyes shut, and his black-filled wrinkles deepened.

  Ela’s concentration focused. “And who is her husband?”

  “Alan Morse,” he rasped. “Never liked him. Told her not to marry him.”

  “Why?” Ela tried to avoid asking questions that suggested a particular answer.

 
; “Rough man.” His blind eyes seemed to stare right through her. “Never was kind to her.”

  “Why did she marry him?”

  “Who can say?” He shrugged. “Women have their whims, don’t they?” His words hung in the air for a moment. “Not yourself of course, my lady.” His sightless eyes stared right through her with a look that could be taken for insolence. She tried not to take it that way. “I can’t say what she saw in him, but she was all bright eyes and blushes from the moment she met him. I could still see well enough back then, so I saw it with my own eyes. He were big and strong, I’ll give him that.”

  Ela could easily imagine a young girl living at home and waiting hand and foot on her gruff and testy father being bowled over by the attentions of a muscular young man who promised her a different life. And if she was used to a man who didn’t mince words or waste time on niceties, she’d be all the more susceptible to putting up with another one.

  “How long have they been married?”

  “Nigh on seven years.” He rubbed his face with a gnarled and grimy hand.

  “So they have children?”

  “Nope. No children.”

  Ela frowned. Did he even know his daughter was pregnant? “And would you say they had a happy marriage?” She hated the false note that crept into her voice. He’d already half-told her the answer to this question, but she didn’t want to put words in his mouth.

  His guffaw still startled her enough to make her jump, and she was glad he didn’t see it. “Happy? If walking on hot coals and being poked with the devil’s pitchfork could make you happy, then maybe so. But no, she weren’t happy.” He paused and drew in a breath long enough to make his lungs rattle. “He beat her, of course.”

  “Of course?”

  “Hardly a surprise, given his temper.”

  Everything he said pointed the finger of accusation more firmly at her husband. But there was one important question. Was the girl in the armory actually this man’s daughter? And since he was blind, how could she even find out?