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Day Three
Catrin
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“Alun is right, of course,” Catrin said. “You aren’t the one to decide who lives and who dies. You do what you can and hope the king will listen to you when it comes to justice.”
“I have little hope of that, in truth,” Rhys said, “and none at all from the queen.”
Catrin sighed. “Unfortunately, that means our chances of getting anything useful out of any other judge is so low as to be nonexistent.”
“It was never high.”
Typically for them, this conversation was being held over Hugh’s body. Darkness had fallen, at the end of what felt like another very long day. Math and Simon were going about their duties, and Catrin had promised one more visit to the queen before she retired for the night. Here at the end of a third day of investigating, she felt like she needed to sleep for a week.
“No defensive wounds again.” She lifted Hugh’s wrist.
“I would say he knew his killer, just like Moriddig.”
“That has to narrow the culprits.” Her eyes kept going to Hugh’s torso and the two slashes in his belly. The first was an upthrust to the heart, right under the ribs. The second had laid him open. He should have died very quickly from the first blow, but for some reason known only to the murderer, he had cut Hugh again. Out of spite ... or rage?
“But who really does it eliminate?” Rhys moved around the body, looking for other bruises or wounds. Again, they knew how Hugh had died. What they wanted now were indications as to the identity of the killer.
“I think we need to seriously consider the possibility this was done by a woman,” Catrin said. “Moriddig was heard arguing with a woman before his death. He was a small man, so a strong woman could have managed it. He would not have known to fear her and could have allowed her to get close. The same is true of Hugh, though he was much taller. A man like him wouldn’t have been wary of a woman.”
“Who are our suspects, though? Mary, Jane, Rhiannon, Joan, who is six months pregnant? Emma?”
“I admit, the idea seems less credible when you put it that way. But then who do we have amongst the men? Adam and Patrick of course, Gruffydd, Cadwgan, or Owen de la Pole? We are missing too much—” She broke off as she leaned over Hugh’s belly, focused on it despite herself. He had been tall but thin, and the bulge in the lower left quadrant of his abdomen was notable now that he was under direct light and lying on his back. “Is this some kind of swelling from the stabbing?”
Rhys leaned in too, eyeing the lump, because they really had to call it that. It was very near the second wound, and after a quick look of approval from Catrin, he expanded the gap further with both hands.
Catrin positioned the lamp so they could see better. “What is it?” Her initial thought had been that the murderer had left more than just coins and the garnet behind and had actually hidden something within the body itself.
But what Rhys exposed was an elongated mass of tissue connected to Hugh’s innards, just taking up space in his belly. “That doesn’t look like I think it should.”
Catrin put her hand to her own abdomen. Neither she nor Rhys had made a personal study of human anatomy themselves, but she had cared for many ill people over the years and had seen drawings in one of the king’s physician’s Greek texts.
“It definitely isn’t right—” She broke off at the sound of hooves on the flagstones in the bailey.
Rhys hastily washed his hands in the bowl provided while Catrin threw a cloth over the body. Stepping outside, they bowed to the king, who had just arrived with his party, which included Math and Simon.
Simon separated himself from the group and came over. “What have you to tell me?”
“He wasn’t tortured,” Rhys said, “and he does not appear to have fought back against his attacker. I’d say he was taken entirely by surprise.”
“As we thought, then. As we feared.”
“We think he might have been ill,” Catrin said. “He has a lump of odd tissue in his belly. If he knew it, it could better explain his change of heart regarding the bribes, more than just a result of the transition from Lord Gruffydd’s stewardship to Owen’s.” Then she looked past Simon to where the king was talking to Simon’s brother, Osborn. “Is all well there?”
Simon turned to see what Catrin was indicating and, in a rare light moment, his face blossomed into a smile. “If one good thing can come out of today, it might be that.”
“Osborn has blessed the union of Emma and Stephen?”
“Not only that, but so has the Earl of Warwick—and the king!”
“I don’t believe it,” Rhys said. “How often does young love win out?”
“Queen Eleanor was thirteen when she and the king married. On the first of November they will mark their thirtieth year together. Apparently, in the lead up to their wedding, today was a special day for them too. If I understood correctly, it was the day they confessed their love for each other.”
Catrin had been such a girl once, though sixteen and marrying a lesser lord. She met Robert only a few days before their wedding. Hers had not been a love match, however. Edward and Eleanor had been lucky.
And, it seemed, despite Hugh’s death and the horror that accompanied it, Emma and Stephen might be too.
