Read Online The Devil's Domain by Paul C. Doherty - Free Book Online Page A

room was large but poorly lit. The shutters on the windows were thrown back but the little sunlight which poured through did nothing to lift the gloom or the summer breezes soften the stench of death and decay. A crucifix hung on the far wall, a few sticks of furniture and two battered leather coffers stood scattered around. On the narrow cot bed lay the corpse. Athelstan glimpsed a protuberant nose, greying skin; the dirty sheet meant to cover it had slipped to one side. Although he had given the last rites to many people, Athelstan was always struck by how pathetic a corpse looked. This was no different.
    Athelstan crossed to the bed. He was not a physician but one glance told him that Guillaum Serriem had died in agony. The eyes were open, the pupils rolled back, the mouth hung slack. The skin of the face was puffy and discoloured. Athelstan pulled up the shift, noting the dark purple blotches which discoloured the chest and the muscular stomach. He opened the small writing-bag he always carried and took out a thin-stemmed horn spoon. He forced this into the mouth; the cadaver was stiff though the jaw was still slightly slack. The pink skin inside the mouth had turned a dark purplish hue, the gums and tongue were swollen. Athelstan sniffed. There was an odour, slightly sweetish. Athelstan knew and recognised a number of poisons but not this, which had the sugary smell of marzipan. He inspected the corpse for any recent wound or mark. Serriem’s body was lean and muscular; it bore the high, pink, furrowed cuts where old wounds had healed but nothing out of the ordinary. Athelstan whispered the Requiem, made the sign of the cross over the corpse and pulled the sheet over that ghastly face. Sir John was sitting on a stool mopping his brow. Sir Maurice was playing with the wrist guard, Sir Walter was going round the room touching things as if he might find something significant. The door was pushed open. A young man entered, tall, thin and stooped, long brown hair falling to his shoulders. He was sharp-eyed and clean-shaven with a kindly face.
    ’Osmund Aspinall,’ Sir Walter introduced him. ’He’s our leech and apothecary.’
    The physician hitched his fur gown and pulled up the belt which hung loose round his thin waist. He shook Sir John’s hand and then Athelstan’s, peering at them closely as if short-sighted.
    ’I’m a physician,’ he joked. ’Most people call me a leech. I have chambers in Cripplegate and Sir Walter here pays me to keep an eye on the prisoners.’ He sat on the edge of the bed and patted the corpse. ’Poisoned, yes?’
    ’How do you know?’ Athelstan asked, going to sit on the small bench under the window.
    Aspinall shrugged. ’Brother, there are as many poisons on the market as there are pigeons round St Paul’s. Belladonna, henbane and at least three types of arsenic.’
    ’But this one?’ Sir John asked.
    ’I can’t recognise it but, as I have said, there are so many.’
    ’How was it administered?’ Athelstan asked.
    ’Oh, by mouth. There’s no cut on the corpse.’
    ’Could it have been an accident?’
    ’Possibly.’ Aspinall gestured at the window. ’There’s a herb garden down there, with berries and plants which might kill a man.’
    ’How long does it take such a poison to work?’ Sir Maurice asked.
    ’It depends. I knew of an old woman in Guttersnipe Alley who was poisoned by her son over a period of days but this was one which acted quickly. It would disturb the humours, clog the blood and, by the look on the corpse’s face, he probably choked.’
    ’Well, well, well.’ Sir John tapped his boot on the floor. ’And where would they get poisons from?’
    ’There’s none here,’ Sir Walter insisted. ’None whatsoever.’
    And you, Master Aspinall?’
    The physician spread his long fingers and played with the gem-encrusted ring on one of them.
    ’My lord coroner, I have heard of you and Brother Athelstan.’ He laughed drily. ’Sharp of eye and keen of