The Sanctuary Seeker by Bernard Knight Read Free Book Online

Levant.
    ‘Bandages wound around feet, the sign of an experienced horseman used to long distances. Marks of spurs on boots, but none present now.’ Also stolen, he thought.
    Gwyn, well versed already in the coroner’s routine, held up in succession the tunic, the shirt and the shift for inspection. In each was a clean slit about an inch long, under the left shoulder-blade. There were further cuts in the left forearm and in the upper part of the right sleeve.
    The clothing, which smelt of the corpse’s peeling skin and weeping body fluids, was bundled up and given into the care of the village, with instructions to wash and guard it safely until it was claimed by the victim’s family.
    The crowd shuffled nearer as the now naked body, belly swelling with gas, was displayed on the bier.
    ‘The face and arms are deeply sun-browned, though fading. Corruption is present, of a degree that in this season and weather might token death at least a sennight, maybe almost a fortnight, since.’
    Once more Gwyn held up the hands and arms, and John continued, ‘A deep slash through skin and flesh on the left arm between wrist and elbow and a three-inch wound below the right shoulder.
    Sustained during a sword fight, the left arm raised in protection, the right struck to disable the sword arm.’ Gwyn pointed a thick finger at the left hand to remind him. ‘And defending cuts on the fingers, thumb and palm of the left hand, where the victim gripped a sharp blade.’
    John waited for his clerk to catch up, then told Gwyn to roll the body over on to its face. When it rested with its limp arms dangling over the edge of the bier, they saw that the settled blood under the skin on the back now had a lacework of darker putrefying veins that contrasted with the greenish pallor of the upper skin.
    The coroner proclaimed the significance of the slit in the clothing, pointing out the stab wound under the shoulder-blade, now dribbling fluid blood that had already collected in a large pool on the oak of the crude bier.
    Gwyn leaned over to look again more closely at it, the ends of his moustache almost brushing the corpse.
    A voice spoke from alongside him. ‘A dagger, that was, not a sword. Double-edged, by the sharpness of the ends of the cut. Pulled downwards as it was withdrawn for there’s a shallow cut tailing away from the lower end.’
    It was Nebba. He had unobtrusively rejoined the throng, and Gwyn turned to scowl at him, annoyed at his challenge to the monopoly of knowledge of wounds that he and the coroner professed. A murmur went up from the onlookers near enough to hear him.
    ‘Stabbed in the back. A wicked thing,’ said Simon of Dunstone solemnly. Ralph looked at him suspiciously, but said nothing to provoke another squabble.
    The coroner made his own close inspection. His lips thinned in distaste. ‘Not killed in fair combat, for sure. He was fighting to the front and got two sword cuts for his efforts when someone else stabbed him between the shoulders. Then he turned and grasped the blade, getting his hand cut for his trouble.’ There was nothing more to be seen, so after telling Thomas to note down the dead man’s hairy mole, John walked back to his episcopal chair, the crowd shambling back to face him.
    ‘The inquest can go no further than to declare the victim murdered and to state that his identity is unknown. It is obvious that no one can present Englishry to me, so the village of Widecombe is also amerced in the sum of ten marks as a murdrum fine.’ There was another collective groan from the crowd at this additional burden for the future.
    ‘Neither have I any way of telling where he died or whether you villagers are telling me the whole truth. I have the gravest suspicions of some of you, but further enquiry is necessary on my part.’ He glared down accusingly at the two reeves. ‘However, Widecombe guarded the cadaver and sent for the King’s crowner without undue delay, as is the law now. That law requires