The Guilt of Innocents by Candace Robb Read Free Book Online

present and noticed the man now, or the shape of him beneath the blanket. Henry joined him.
    ‘He is dead?’ Owen asked.
    Henry nodded and then crossed himself. ‘He died just a little while ago. I waited to move him to a more public place until you’d seen him.’
    ‘Did he ever wake?’
    ‘No. He made mewling sounds towards the end, as if in pain but too weak to cry out.’
    ‘That doesn’t sound like drowning,’ Owen said. ‘But a poisoned blade – that is no sudden quarrel but deliberate murder.’
    Henry bowed his head and crossed himself. ‘The devil is loose in the city.’
    ‘The method is only too human,’ said Owen. ‘Let me see him.’
    Henry uncovered Drogo’s head, then drew back the blanket to expose his right hand. The skin on his face already looked waxy and slightly grey, though around the cuts it was much darker and there was a trace of crust that did not look like a scab. It was too small a sample for either Owen or Lucie to detect the presence of poison, too little to smell or taste.
    ‘He tried to protect his face,’ Owen noted.
    Henry nodded. ‘That is what I thought. The slits must have stung, but I wouldn’t think they were terribly painful. I suppose that’s why he went to the barges and not home to clean the wounds. What do you think?’
    ‘I think his attacker was confident of the poison. Depending on what it was, Drogo might have sought relief in the river as the pain worsened.’
    ‘May God grant him peace,’ said Henry.
    Owen released Drogo’s hand. He crossed himself and said a prayer for the pilot’s soul. ‘Did you know him?’
    Henry muted a sneeze with his hand. ‘A little. I’d spoken to him at the staithe now and then. He seemed a quiet man, though I heard murmurstonight that he was too ready with his fists when drunk.’
    ‘That is not an unusual trait in our fellow men.’ Owen noticed lines of weariness encircling the infirmarian’s eyes and mouth despite his youth. ‘You found no other marks on his body?’
    ‘This bruise.’ Henry touched a faint discolouration high on the man’s left arm. ‘I thought it might be where his rescuer clutched him.’
    It was the size of a man’s hand. ‘You may be right. Anything else?’
    Henry shook his head as he tried to cover a yawn, but his exhaustion won.
    Owen empathised. ‘You are already weary, and I expect you have a long evening ahead of you. I’ll not keep you long. Have you had much illness here?’
    Henry shook his head as he tucked his hands in the opposite sleeves and moved away from Drogo. ‘I made a nettle draught for myself yesterday that was far too strong, and then I could not sleep.’
    ‘Ah, the healer has no time to be ill.’ Lucie often pushed herself far past signs of exhaustion.
    ‘I don’t think of it as illness,’ said Henry. ‘My sneezing upset my patients. I am accustomed to fits of sneezing after mixing some powders. The nettle quiets it. But I was distracted while measuring the draught. Brother Paolo was …’ His voice trailed off and he frowned down at his sandals. ‘He’s grown wicked in his illness.’ Glancing up at Owen, Henry blushed.
    Owen tried to erase his grin. ‘Pleasuring himself?’
    ‘How did you guess?’ asked Henry as he averted his eyes.
    Owen found it difficult not to laugh outright, imagining the monk distracted by a vigorously fluttering blanket, or startled by the old monk crying out in pleasure. ‘I’ve seen it in the camps, men comforting themselves, taking heart from a healthy response.’ Owen shrugged. ‘Of course it is more appropriate for soldiers than for monks.’
    ‘It is a sin regardless,’ Henry said sternly, his face very red.
    Owen had forgotten Henry’s primness. ‘I pray you forgive me, Brother Henry. I should not have spoken so boldly.’ He searched for another topic, having no cause to offend the monk. ‘Warn those keeping vigil with the body that Drogo’s murderer is abroad. I am most concerned about his family, if he