Read Online The Anger of God by Paul C. Doherty - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul C. Doherty
Ads: Link
Goodman, all clustered together, shook their heads.
‘He was in the best of health,’ Denny squeaked.
‘Any family?’ Sir John asked, still crouched beside the corpse.
‘A wife and two married sons. But they are absent from the city.’
Cranston nodded. Like Lady Maude, many of the wives of leading city officials and merchants left the city during the warm summer for cool manor houses in the country. Athelstan glanced up and carefully watched these clever, subtle men. In his judgement, one of them was a poisoner. He got to his feet and, stepping over the body, sat down at Fitzroy’s table. The silver plate still bore portions of meat and other remnants from the banquet. Two cups of wine stood there, each about one-third full with either red or white wine. Athelstan picked up the gold-edged napkin, studied this carefully, sniffing at it, then the cups and the food. The hall grew silent and he looked up to find the rest studying him curiously.
‘What is the matter, Brother?’ Gaunt’s voice was full of suspicion.
‘I believe,’ Athelstan declared, ignoring Cranston ’s warning look, ‘that Master Fitzroy did not die of a seizure but was poisoned.’
‘Murdered?’ Goodman snapped.
‘Impossible!’ Marshall snorted. ‘What are you implying, Brother?’
‘My clerk is implying nothing!’ Cranston retorted, getting to his feet.
Athelstan carefully laid the napkin over the table, covering the plate and cups.
‘If my secretarius,’ Cranston continued defiantly, ‘says a man is poisoned, then he’s been poisoned.’
‘Now, now, what is this?’ the young King intervened, if Sir Thomas were murdered here, his assassin would still be in the room.’
Athelstan got up and walked across to a servitor who stood holding a jug of rose water and a bowl, with a small towel over his wrist. Athelstan smiled at the fellow, extended his fingers and carefully washed away the sugary-sweet substance from Fitzroy’s mouth. He dried his hands carefully on the towel and walked back to the group.
‘I believe Master Fitzroy was murdered,’ he declared. ‘I have seen seizures before, but not like this one. Death was too sudden and I detect a strange smell on his lips.’
The powerful Guildmasters stared at Athelstan: they believed him now and their arrogant looks were tinged by fear and suspicion.
‘Who sat on either side of him?’ Cranston asked the unspoken question.
‘I did,’ Goodman declared. ‘I sat to his right.’
‘And I to his left,’ Sudbury added. ‘Why, what are you implying?’
Cranston looked at the servants huddled near the door. ‘You, sir.’ One stubby finger singled out a frightened-looking steward. ‘Come here!’
The fellow scuttled forward.
‘Did Sir Thomas Fitzroy eat or drink anything we did not?’
‘No, sir. All food was served from the one platter and his wine came from the same jugs as everyone else’s.’
‘I will stand as surety for that.’ Bremmer, Guildmaster of the Drapers, spoke up.
‘As will I,’ Marshall of the Spicers declared. ‘You see, old Fitzroy liked his food and drink. Bremmer and I had a quiet wager that Fitzroy would ask for double portions of everything and his cups be refilled more than anyone else’s. I was right,’ the spicer added slyly, glancing quickly at Cranston . ‘He ate and drank even more than you, Sir John.’
Cranston glared back and belched loudly as if that was the only answer such a statement warranted. He turned to Bremmer. ‘You are sure of that?’
‘I am, Sir John.’
‘And you?’ Beginning to sway slightly, Cranston looked sharply at the steward.
Oh, Lord, Athelstan prayed silently, don’t let Sir John sit down and go to sleep. Not now. Please, please!
Cranston , however, seemed to have the bit between his teeth as he advanced threateningly on the frightened steward.
‘Are you sure that Fitzroy ate and drank only what we did?’
‘Of course, Sir John. You see,’ the steward turned, bobbing to the King
‘He was in the best of health,’ Denny squeaked.
‘Any family?’ Sir John asked, still crouched beside the corpse.
‘A wife and two married sons. But they are absent from the city.’
Cranston nodded. Like Lady Maude, many of the wives of leading city officials and merchants left the city during the warm summer for cool manor houses in the country. Athelstan glanced up and carefully watched these clever, subtle men. In his judgement, one of them was a poisoner. He got to his feet and, stepping over the body, sat down at Fitzroy’s table. The silver plate still bore portions of meat and other remnants from the banquet. Two cups of wine stood there, each about one-third full with either red or white wine. Athelstan picked up the gold-edged napkin, studied this carefully, sniffing at it, then the cups and the food. The hall grew silent and he looked up to find the rest studying him curiously.
‘What is the matter, Brother?’ Gaunt’s voice was full of suspicion.
‘I believe,’ Athelstan declared, ignoring Cranston ’s warning look, ‘that Master Fitzroy did not die of a seizure but was poisoned.’
‘Murdered?’ Goodman snapped.
‘Impossible!’ Marshall snorted. ‘What are you implying, Brother?’
‘My clerk is implying nothing!’ Cranston retorted, getting to his feet.
Athelstan carefully laid the napkin over the table, covering the plate and cups.
‘If my secretarius,’ Cranston continued defiantly, ‘says a man is poisoned, then he’s been poisoned.’
‘Now, now, what is this?’ the young King intervened, if Sir Thomas were murdered here, his assassin would still be in the room.’
Athelstan got up and walked across to a servitor who stood holding a jug of rose water and a bowl, with a small towel over his wrist. Athelstan smiled at the fellow, extended his fingers and carefully washed away the sugary-sweet substance from Fitzroy’s mouth. He dried his hands carefully on the towel and walked back to the group.
‘I believe Master Fitzroy was murdered,’ he declared. ‘I have seen seizures before, but not like this one. Death was too sudden and I detect a strange smell on his lips.’
The powerful Guildmasters stared at Athelstan: they believed him now and their arrogant looks were tinged by fear and suspicion.
‘Who sat on either side of him?’ Cranston asked the unspoken question.
‘I did,’ Goodman declared. ‘I sat to his right.’
‘And I to his left,’ Sudbury added. ‘Why, what are you implying?’
Cranston looked at the servants huddled near the door. ‘You, sir.’ One stubby finger singled out a frightened-looking steward. ‘Come here!’
The fellow scuttled forward.
‘Did Sir Thomas Fitzroy eat or drink anything we did not?’
‘No, sir. All food was served from the one platter and his wine came from the same jugs as everyone else’s.’
‘I will stand as surety for that.’ Bremmer, Guildmaster of the Drapers, spoke up.
‘As will I,’ Marshall of the Spicers declared. ‘You see, old Fitzroy liked his food and drink. Bremmer and I had a quiet wager that Fitzroy would ask for double portions of everything and his cups be refilled more than anyone else’s. I was right,’ the spicer added slyly, glancing quickly at Cranston . ‘He ate and drank even more than you, Sir John.’
Cranston glared back and belched loudly as if that was the only answer such a statement warranted. He turned to Bremmer. ‘You are sure of that?’
‘I am, Sir John.’
‘And you?’ Beginning to sway slightly, Cranston looked sharply at the steward.
Oh, Lord, Athelstan prayed silently, don’t let Sir John sit down and go to sleep. Not now. Please, please!
Cranston , however, seemed to have the bit between his teeth as he advanced threateningly on the frightened steward.
‘Are you sure that Fitzroy ate and drank only what we did?’
‘Of course, Sir John. You see,’ the steward turned, bobbing to the King
Similar Books
