enough to scare a child into keeping his distance. Josse guessed that Sister Martha had been spoiling the horse; she usually did when he was in her care. When they were clear of the frozen pond and the track widened out, Josse took Horace out in front and kicked him into a canter, riding him hard for a mile or so before reining in and trotting back to meet the rest of the party. Having got the playfulness out of him, Josse settled down for a quiet morning’s ride.
He and Augustus saw the family safely back to their little dwelling and asked for directions to the building that housed the gaol. Then, bidding them farewell, they rode on.
The presence of a mule and a couple of horses indicated that the representatives of law and order were still inside the gaol building. Tethering their own mounts and going inside, Josse and Augustus heard raised voices. Two men were arguing, another plaintively interrupting.
Josse called out. ‘Hallo there!’ The dissenting voices abruptly ceased. Then, from some hidden place at the end of a passage, there came the sound of footsteps.
‘I’m coming!’ a man’s voice panted. ‘These cursed steps will be the death of me!’ And into view came a short and very fat man in a leather tunic over saggy, soiled hose. ‘Yes?’
Josse introduced Augustus and himself, saying where they were from and how they came to be there. ‘I was informed,’ he went on regally, ‘that there was a dead man and some mystery as to how he met his death. I have some experience in these things and have come to offer my services.’
The fat man seemed to be amazed that anyone should bother. ‘He weren’t a well-liked fellow,’ he said, face creasing in puzzlement. ‘Reckon there ain’t no more mystery than that one of his prisoners thumped him in the face and the pair of ’em – him and the other one – legged it.’ He grinned.
‘They were locked up?’ Josse asked.
‘Aye, course they were. This here’s a gaol .’ The faint sarcasm was evident.
‘And the sheriff ’s officer would have entered the cell to take in food?’
‘Nah, not him! There’s a trap door in the wall, see, and he opens the flap, shoves the food in then locks it up again.’
‘I see. Then how, do you imagine, did the prisoner manage to achieve the blow to the guard’s face?’
‘Oh. Er. Hm.’ The fat man lifted the front of his jerkin and began an enthusiastic scratching of his crotch. ‘Hm.’
‘I should like to see the body.’ Josse stood over the fat man, trying to awe him into obedience.
‘Oh. Suppose you can if you want. Come with me.’
The fat man led the way along the passage and down a short flight of steep stone steps. Below, three small cells opened off a corridor. The doors to all three were open and the foul stench from within each cell made Josse want to retch.
The fat man went ahead of him into the end cell. ‘Here.’ He pointed. ‘Here he is. Tab, Seth, out of the way.’ He kicked at the two men crouching by the body and they leapt aside. The presence of a hurdle beside them on the wet and soiled floor suggested they had been about to put the dead man on to it and bear him away.
Josse looked down at the guard. He lay on his back and, as Josse had been told, had clearly suffered a fist in the face. The top lip was split and the nose squashed. Quite a sizeable fist, Josse thought, or else the assailant hit him more than once.
But he had to agree that the blow did not at first glance look as if it had been fatal. Perhaps the man had fallen and cracked his skull on the hard stone floor. Lifting the head, Josse felt all over it for the presence of a wound. There was nothing.
But something had killed him.
Leaving aside the vague and unlikely possibility that the man had been sick and just happened to die at the very moment that he was punched and two prisoners broke out of his gaol, Josse proceeded to examine the rest of the body.
There was not a mark on it.
He sat back on his heels,
He and Augustus saw the family safely back to their little dwelling and asked for directions to the building that housed the gaol. Then, bidding them farewell, they rode on.
The presence of a mule and a couple of horses indicated that the representatives of law and order were still inside the gaol building. Tethering their own mounts and going inside, Josse and Augustus heard raised voices. Two men were arguing, another plaintively interrupting.
Josse called out. ‘Hallo there!’ The dissenting voices abruptly ceased. Then, from some hidden place at the end of a passage, there came the sound of footsteps.
‘I’m coming!’ a man’s voice panted. ‘These cursed steps will be the death of me!’ And into view came a short and very fat man in a leather tunic over saggy, soiled hose. ‘Yes?’
Josse introduced Augustus and himself, saying where they were from and how they came to be there. ‘I was informed,’ he went on regally, ‘that there was a dead man and some mystery as to how he met his death. I have some experience in these things and have come to offer my services.’
The fat man seemed to be amazed that anyone should bother. ‘He weren’t a well-liked fellow,’ he said, face creasing in puzzlement. ‘Reckon there ain’t no more mystery than that one of his prisoners thumped him in the face and the pair of ’em – him and the other one – legged it.’ He grinned.
‘They were locked up?’ Josse asked.
‘Aye, course they were. This here’s a gaol .’ The faint sarcasm was evident.
‘And the sheriff ’s officer would have entered the cell to take in food?’
‘Nah, not him! There’s a trap door in the wall, see, and he opens the flap, shoves the food in then locks it up again.’
‘I see. Then how, do you imagine, did the prisoner manage to achieve the blow to the guard’s face?’
‘Oh. Er. Hm.’ The fat man lifted the front of his jerkin and began an enthusiastic scratching of his crotch. ‘Hm.’
‘I should like to see the body.’ Josse stood over the fat man, trying to awe him into obedience.
‘Oh. Suppose you can if you want. Come with me.’
The fat man led the way along the passage and down a short flight of steep stone steps. Below, three small cells opened off a corridor. The doors to all three were open and the foul stench from within each cell made Josse want to retch.
The fat man went ahead of him into the end cell. ‘Here.’ He pointed. ‘Here he is. Tab, Seth, out of the way.’ He kicked at the two men crouching by the body and they leapt aside. The presence of a hurdle beside them on the wet and soiled floor suggested they had been about to put the dead man on to it and bear him away.
Josse looked down at the guard. He lay on his back and, as Josse had been told, had clearly suffered a fist in the face. The top lip was split and the nose squashed. Quite a sizeable fist, Josse thought, or else the assailant hit him more than once.
But he had to agree that the blow did not at first glance look as if it had been fatal. Perhaps the man had fallen and cracked his skull on the hard stone floor. Lifting the head, Josse felt all over it for the presence of a wound. There was nothing.
But something had killed him.
Leaving aside the vague and unlikely possibility that the man had been sick and just happened to die at the very moment that he was punched and two prisoners broke out of his gaol, Josse proceeded to examine the rest of the body.
There was not a mark on it.
He sat back on his heels,
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