Read Online Candlemas by Shirley McKay - Free Book Online

tallow, and you found him fast asleep. Did you have the money, also, in your purse? Or did you have a tale that you had spent it on the sheep? In either case, you saw a short reprieve. You put the tallow down, and turned to go. You did not leave the money, for we found none in the house. But then, you looked at him. And he was really very sound asleep. The force of his exertions, his want of proper rest, the letting of his blood, that left him worn and weak, conspired to reassure you he would not awake. He had opened out the binding and offered up the vein, as though it were a gift. How could you refuse? How simple it would be to take the sharpest blade you carried in your belt and open up the wound; what surgeon’s art more supple than the butcher’s knife.’
    â€˜This is slander, sir, and I will not hear it! If I killed him, if, why would I leave behind the bucket with my mark on it? Ha? Ha! Answer me that!’ It was plain that the flesher had rehearsed this many times; it was almost a relief to him to play the part at last.
    â€˜You ask a pertinent question, sir, and that you ask it quickly undermines your words. I expect you have asked it over and again, ever since you saw that it was a mistake. To your credit, I suppose the killing was an impulse, one you did not have in mind when you first set out. A novice, after all, cannot think of everything.’
    The flesher said boldly, ‘That is a lie, and cannot be proved.’
    â€˜I grant it will be hard. But there is in our college a fine anatomist, who is especially skilled in identifying wounds. He has a kind of glass, that will tell him at a glance, if the flesh was torn by asingle blade or two. And if there is a smear of sheep fat in a vein, or the smallest scrap of wool, he is sure to find it out.’
    â€˜You are the devil!’ The flesher lunged at Hew, and Hew knocked the boning knife deftly from his hand. As it clattered to the ground, Roger wandered up, a pig snout in his hand. ‘How much is this?’ he inquired.
    â€˜A glass, in which a man can see the matter in a wound? Whoever would believe in such a thing?’ demanded Giles.
    They were sitting in the safety of the turret tower, where Hew had spilled his tale. ‘There are people who believe a corpse can name its killer,’ he replied.
    â€˜As often, in a certain sense, it can. Your logic is fantastical. How I wish I had that kind of glass.’
    â€˜It matters not,’ said Hew, ‘since he did not confess. The case cannot be proved.’
    â€˜But doubtless, if the flesher is indicted for the crime, you will be a witness, and must serve upon the jury,’ Giles pointed out.
    â€˜I suppose I must. Yet what justice can there be, when the jury is selected from such men as ken the evidence, and the panel too. It has always struck me as skewed,’ objected Hew.
    â€˜Nonetheless, if I accuse the flesher in my own report, and the sheriff is disposed to issue an indictment, you are the witness central to the case. You will not find it hard to convince the rest. As juror, you will have more sway upon them than the king’s own advocate. A magic glass, indeed.’
    Hew was silent for a moment, for he had not thought of that.
    â€˜If the man has sense,’ said Giles, ‘he will not wait around to hear you stand against him, but even as we speak will be packing up his bags. Whatever is the outcome, it is not a happy one.’
    â€˜Yet for Sam,’ insisted Hew, ‘there is justice of a sort. He is rid of the horror that he caused John Blair’s death. And relief has made of him a different sort of man.’
    â€˜It does not help me much in writing my report. For the truth is, Sam did practise phlebotomy, when his inclination and the season spoke against it, and his judgement was impaired by interests of his own. Though I do not indict him on a murder charge, can I recommend to the deacon of his gild that such a barber-surgeon