Read Online Assassin in the Greenwood by Paul C. Doherty - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul C. Doherty
Ads: Link
of the corpse, Friar Thomas on the other. The cleric whispered words of contrition in the dead man's ear and sketched a blessing in the air as Corbett carefully examined the corpse. He satisfied himself that the hands and ankles were free from any rope marks then undid the dead man's belt. He lowered his head and sniffed at Lecroix's mouth, trying to ignore the streaks of saliva drying on the dead man's beard. Corbett pinched his nose and looked up at Branwood.
'He was drunk when he killed himself. His breath stinks of stale wine!'
Naylor, who had been busy lighting the sconce torches, trudged deeper down into the cellar.
'There's been a wine cask broached.'
Corbett stared into the darkness. He saw a wooden box lying lop-sided, beside it a pewter cup.
'He was a toper,' Maigret commented.
Corbett nodded and stared up at the piece of rope still wrapped round the rafters and once again at the box and fallen cup.
'Did any of you see him this evening?' he asked.
'I did,' Friar Thomas replied, his fat face now drained of any trace of humour. 'Just before the attack I met him on the stairs. He was deeply in his cups.'
Corbett once more examined the corpse, paying particular attention to the fingers, noticing how call used those of the left hand were.
'He was left-handed?' he asked.
'Yes, yes,' Branwood murmured. 'Sir Eustace was always cursing Lecroix because he served from the wrong side.'
Corbett got to his feet, wiping his hands on his robe.
'God knows why,' he announced, 'but perhaps the attack tipped the balance of his mind. I suggest Lecroix came down here to hide. He broached the cask of wine and, in his cups, decided to take his own life. He stood on that box, slipped the rope over the beam and the noose round his neck, kicked the box away and his life went out like a candle flame.'
Corbett stared down. Something was wrong but he couldn't place it. He closed his eyes. He had seen enough for one day. He was exhausted after the hot, dusty journey up the ancient Roman highway, Branwood's revelations, Vechey's death, the grisly attacks on the castle, and now this.
'Sir Peter,' Corbett declared, 'you are right, this castle is accursed.'
'Well, tomorrow,' Branwood retorted, 'we will carry the curse back to the forest. I am going to take this outlaw alive and string him up like a rat in the market place. Naylor, remove the body!'
'Where?'
'In the death house next to his master. Friar Thomas, keep a still tongue in your head. No one will miss poor Lecroix, and who cares if he was a suicide? He and his master can be buried together.'
The sheriff led them out of the cellar back into the hall where scullions were laying the high table for the evening meal. Just inside the door of the hall, servants were waiting with bowls of water and napkins. Everyone washed carefully and took their places at the high table. Friar Thomas said the benediction and Sir Peter ordered the evening meal to be served. Both Corbett and Ranulf felt queasy after what they had seen in the cellar as well as their visits to the kitchens earlier in the day but the food proved to be quite delicious: a young piglet, its flesh soft and sweetened, served in a lemon sauce, whilst Sir Peter was generous in filling everyone's wine cup with chilled wine of Alsace. He grinned at his guests.
'I cannot guarantee the food and drink are not poisoned but an armed guard now stands in the kitchen. I have sworn that if anyone else dies, the cook and his scullions will hang.'
'Physician Maigret,' Corbett insisted, 'my apologies for asking you this again, but you do know what poison killed Vechey?'
The physician's eyes snapped up. 'No, but I suggest a concoction ground from a dried noxious plant-henbane or belladonna.'
Corbett sipped from his cup. 'And you cannot guess how it was administered?'
'I have told you once,' the physician retorted, 'we have scrutinised everything Vechey ate or drank at table or in his chamber. Why do you ask now?'
'I was thinking of
'He was drunk when he killed himself. His breath stinks of stale wine!'
Naylor, who had been busy lighting the sconce torches, trudged deeper down into the cellar.
'There's been a wine cask broached.'
Corbett stared into the darkness. He saw a wooden box lying lop-sided, beside it a pewter cup.
'He was a toper,' Maigret commented.
Corbett nodded and stared up at the piece of rope still wrapped round the rafters and once again at the box and fallen cup.
'Did any of you see him this evening?' he asked.
'I did,' Friar Thomas replied, his fat face now drained of any trace of humour. 'Just before the attack I met him on the stairs. He was deeply in his cups.'
Corbett once more examined the corpse, paying particular attention to the fingers, noticing how call used those of the left hand were.
'He was left-handed?' he asked.
'Yes, yes,' Branwood murmured. 'Sir Eustace was always cursing Lecroix because he served from the wrong side.'
Corbett got to his feet, wiping his hands on his robe.
'God knows why,' he announced, 'but perhaps the attack tipped the balance of his mind. I suggest Lecroix came down here to hide. He broached the cask of wine and, in his cups, decided to take his own life. He stood on that box, slipped the rope over the beam and the noose round his neck, kicked the box away and his life went out like a candle flame.'
Corbett stared down. Something was wrong but he couldn't place it. He closed his eyes. He had seen enough for one day. He was exhausted after the hot, dusty journey up the ancient Roman highway, Branwood's revelations, Vechey's death, the grisly attacks on the castle, and now this.
'Sir Peter,' Corbett declared, 'you are right, this castle is accursed.'
'Well, tomorrow,' Branwood retorted, 'we will carry the curse back to the forest. I am going to take this outlaw alive and string him up like a rat in the market place. Naylor, remove the body!'
'Where?'
'In the death house next to his master. Friar Thomas, keep a still tongue in your head. No one will miss poor Lecroix, and who cares if he was a suicide? He and his master can be buried together.'
The sheriff led them out of the cellar back into the hall where scullions were laying the high table for the evening meal. Just inside the door of the hall, servants were waiting with bowls of water and napkins. Everyone washed carefully and took their places at the high table. Friar Thomas said the benediction and Sir Peter ordered the evening meal to be served. Both Corbett and Ranulf felt queasy after what they had seen in the cellar as well as their visits to the kitchens earlier in the day but the food proved to be quite delicious: a young piglet, its flesh soft and sweetened, served in a lemon sauce, whilst Sir Peter was generous in filling everyone's wine cup with chilled wine of Alsace. He grinned at his guests.
'I cannot guarantee the food and drink are not poisoned but an armed guard now stands in the kitchen. I have sworn that if anyone else dies, the cook and his scullions will hang.'
'Physician Maigret,' Corbett insisted, 'my apologies for asking you this again, but you do know what poison killed Vechey?'
The physician's eyes snapped up. 'No, but I suggest a concoction ground from a dried noxious plant-henbane or belladonna.'
Corbett sipped from his cup. 'And you cannot guess how it was administered?'
'I have told you once,' the physician retorted, 'we have scrutinised everything Vechey ate or drank at table or in his chamber. Why do you ask now?'
'I was thinking of
Similar Books
