Season of the Raven (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 1) (29 page)

BOOK: Season of the Raven (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 1)

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"Thus the scheme with the pig and the blood, because Stephen wanted his father's death to appear only as an accident. Anything else might lead just where it has, to the revelation of the truth of his birth," Faucon continued.

"The death of 'Wina's mother was but a happy accident, or so I believe. It made no difference if Stephen was in his home at Priors Holston or gone when Halbert died. All the village knew that Halbert had taken to drinking outside by the wheel. And, as Simon the Fuller said, Halbert would release the brake just to spite his neighbors. No one would have raised an eyebrow when a drunken Halbert slipped into the race and drowned."

Here, Faucon paused to grin at his guest. "And all would have gone just as planned—Stephen would yet be milling, Sir Alain would yet have payments to collect—save for the meddling of two monks—Brother Edmund and you."

That set Colin laughing again. This time, the sound of his amusement was a low and very satisfied chuckle. "That is how it is with monks. We meddle. Although he and I should take warning. See what it cost Prior Lambertus to put his fingers where he shouldn't have? Now, about that tunic?" he prodded.

"Ah, that bedamned piece of cloth," Faucon said with no little frustration. He took the pitcher of cider left by the maid from the floor beside his chair and refilled both their cups before continuing.

"So there is Stephen and Alain, returning to the village in the dead of night. No doubt, the use of that awl had been discussed and planned, in keeping with Stephen's goal to make this look like accident. That morning, before Stephen left for 'Wina's home, he goaded his father with his departure, battering his father, knowing his refusal to stay would drive Halbert to drink more than usual.

"The workday ends, Halbert begins drinking. He's angry at Stephen and expects Alain at any moment. In his drunken rage, he brings out the tunic he doesn't wear, the one that Agnes gave him, the symbol of all that will destroy him. Simon intervenes, sending Agnes to the alewife's house. Halbert drops that tunic on the side of the race, and there it stays as Halbert spews his curses at the wheel, then finally falls asleep on the side of the race."

Faucon breathed out, staring into the fire, as the information he had in store shifted and turned in his mind.

"Then, in the dead of night, the miller's son and the sheriff come," Colin said, prodding. "They carry Halbert into Simon's croft. The sheriff pierces Halbert's heart and...?"

"Nay, they undress Halbert on the race side," Faucon corrected, "then carry Halbert into the croft. Remember, there were no stains of any kind on Halbert's braies or shirt when there would have been, had he sat or lain in the ashes," he told the monk, then took up the story once again.

"Alain pierces Halbert's heart, getting the vengeance he craved for Halbert's betrayal, then he leaves, not knowing that I've been given the Crowner's position. He expects no difficulties with the inquest on the morrow. That's why he left it up to Stephen to finish the night's task, not realizing that out of habit Stephen would brake the wheel after his father's body had already stopped it from turning."

"As I said," Colin offered, "a liar always missteps. So when Stephen carried his father's body back to the race, he washed him and dressed him—"

Faucon caught his breath as the meaning of the tunic hit him. "He dressed in the clothing left on the edge of the race," he interrupted. "In his hurry or his nervousness, he put his father in his shirt and braies, then the tunic. Because it was there."

Colin shook his head. "Nothing more than that?"

"Nothing more than that," Faucon replied, smiling. "Then he put his father in the race and when Halbert was up against the wheel, released the brake. Halbert was swept beneath the wheel and it stopped. Then, as I've said, he braked the wheel out of habit, dropped the wrench and fled, expecting Alf to appear from the mill."

Here, Faucon paused. "Alf suggested it might have been intended that he would be accused of Halbert's death. If Stephen had any inkling that Alf was also Halbert's son, this might have been the plan, but that's something we'll never know, not now."

Rolling his cup between his palms, Faucon continued. "I think I'm going to like this crowner's position. But I see I must accustom myself to these murders that may not be resolved."

"These? There is more than one you cannot resolve?" the monk wanted to know.

"Aye, one more already. After you left me at Priors Holston, a child's body was discovered some miles away. It was clear she'd been carried to where she was left, as there was no nearby village or hamlet. Her throat had been slit, but the scavengers had been at her for a time before she was found that there was no knowing who she might have been."

The color drained from Colin's face. He bent to set his cup upon the hearth stone, then looked at Faucon. "Was she dressed in a fine linen shift with a crown of flowers upon her head?" His voice broke as he spoke.

Faucon eyed him in surprise. "The flowers, aye. But her attire was more shirt than shift. Why?"

"Lord save us, it's happening again," the monk breathed, a hand pressed to his mouth. "I thought it was finally over."

Faucon lowered his feet to the floor, then straightened in his chair. "A child has been killed in this same way before this?"

Colin nodded, sadness filling his gaze. "And just as you describe. There have been six. Sir Alain brought their remains to my abbey, where we kept them in the ice house, hoping to identify them before they were naught but bones. When he stopped bringing them, I breathed in relief."

Folding his hands in his lap, he stared at his entwined fingers. "Here is all I know of them. The child is always found in the open, her hair loosened and a crown of flowers upon her head. Her throat is slit. The lasses I've seen have each been dressed in a fine linen shift. None have been known by anyone in Stanrudde, nor has any family complained of a missing girl."

"Six?" Faucon said in welling disgust. What sort of beast murdered innocents?

"Six, only if every murdered babe has been found," Colin corrected gently. "You know how folk will do when they find the body of one they don't know. They'll move the corpse outside their boundaries or bury it, all to avoid the murdrum fine. We haven't seen a girl now for more than two years. I thought—nay, I prayed it had ended."

Colin looked at him, hollow-eyed. "We need a good knight and true, Sir Faucon. One who cares not if the child is but a girl and worth nothing, as was Sir Alain's complaint when my abbot pressed him to take action. Pursue the one who does this, because it is the right thing to do. Stop him."

St. Osyth's DAy

I catch my breath in stunned surprise. She is exquisite! I vow I've have never seen such beauty in one of her lowly birth. Her hair is the color of holy fire. The fine strands waft in the air, shifting and shimmering as they catch what remains of the day's light, encircling her with a glow that proclaims her purity.

That stirring I know so well begins, welling until it fills me from my head to my toes. Our holy Father has claimed this one as His own.

I pause at the gate to the place, waiting to be seen. Folk of their sort are always hospitable to those of mine. I have never been refused a bed and meal when I am on the road.

It takes but a moment before they see me. The children come dashing, calling for the elders to join them. I watch as the child's mother lifts her daughter and cradles her close. Her head bends over the babe's shoulder as tears start from her eyes.

My heart breaks for her. So it is with those like her. They are so often worn to exhaustion by the hardships of their lives. It's a shame that they cannot see beyond their earthly sorrows to the promise of joy that awaits in their Heavenly home.

That is why it so important to find His maid servants when they are yet young, before these girls are emptied of all faith and joy, left bitter by the grinding poverty of their lives.

As the mother draws close to the gate, I see that her daughter is younger than I first thought. It makes me pause. I've never been called to one so young.

Then again, if her Lord and mine has led me here, I may not question. I draw a sustaining breath and set my heart to the task required of it. With this one hardly more than a babe, it will take more time than usual to convince her mother to release her into her Lord's custody.

A Note from Denise

Thank you for reading this first book of my new mystery series. I hope you enjoyed Faucon and his adventure as a Crowner. If you liked the book, or I suppose even if you didn't, consider leaving a review. If you've found any formatting or typographical errors, please
let me know
. I appreciate the chance to correct my mistakes!

I have to admit I had much more fun than I expected following Faucon's appointment to the Crowner's position. I'm looking forward to starting on the next book in the series. A part of me wants to write the book from Sir Alain's viewpoint. Truth be told, when I first conceived of this series, his was the voice in my head. Then Faucon came along and everything changed.

By the way, you’ll find Lord Rannulf of Graistan, Bishop William of Hereford and Brother Colin in my
Seasons Series
.

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