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Day Three
Gareth
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King David leaned forward. “Explain, Lord Gareth, if you would.”
Gareth spread his hands wide. “For argument’s sake, let’s assume Margaret is telling the truth.”
“She isn’t,” Lord James cut in.
“Enough, James,” King David said. “Let Lord Gareth speak.”
Gareth bent his head to the king in respect before continuing, “All along, we have known only that Aelred is dead. We thought we knew how he died—a blow to the head—but even that turned out to be an old wound.” Now he looked directly at Lord James. “Why did you think he was dead?”
Lord James snorted in derision. “Because he was lying on the floor by the altar in a pool of blood!”
“What did you do once you found him?”
“It was just as Douglas said. I took a cloth that had been left on the floor, wrapped him in it, and put him in the ground.”
This was essentially what Gareth had envisioned. He turned to the king. “Would you accompany Gwen and me to the church?” He gestured to the others. “Everyone?”
“Indeed.” The king stood and processed out the door.
“What are you thinking?” Lord Douglas said in an undertone to Gareth, for whom he’d waited. “What do you think happened?”
“Just come.”
Douglas shook his head. “Did I really get it so wrong?”
“We all got it wrong,” Gareth said.
They arrived at the church to find Father Dunstan on his knees in the second row of the choir stall, hammering away at a floor board. At their arrival, he looked over, put down his tools, and hastened forward. “Pardon, my lords. I didn’t see you there!” He brushed off his hands. “I was just addressing an errant nail. They do tend to work themselves out over time.”
“No need to apologize, Father Dunstan,” King David said. “You had no way to know we were coming.”
The priest bowed again. “How may I be of service?”
King David gestured in Gareth’s direction. “Tell us why you’ve brought us here.”
Having Father Dunstan present was a good fortune Gareth hadn’t known he was missing. The seven of them gathered in a loose semi-circle between the altar and the choir stall. “Please show us exactly where you found Aelred’s body, Lord James.”
James gave a little sniff, but he complied, pointing to a spot to the left of the altar as they faced the entrance to the church.
“Was he face up or face down?”
“What does it matter, man?”
“Lord James.” King David’s voice didn’t even contain a warning tone, but it was a warning nonetheless.
“On his back, his arms flopped wide.”
“You said blood had pooled beneath him?”
James shuddered. “I will never forget it.”
“Where was it coming from?”
“A wound.” He gestured to the right side of his own head. “It wouldn’t stop bleeding.”
That was where Aelred’s skull showed damage, indicating to Gareth that the old wound had been reopened.
Lord James was still speaking. “There was blood everywhere! It was as if Margaret had stabbed him in the head. The blood was pooling on the dais and dripping down to the floor.”
Gareth could see now why he thought Aelred was dead, but he also knew that head wounds bled excessively, and liquids spilled on the floor (milk, water, wine, or, in this case, blood) could look like more than was actually there.
James frowned as he relived the memory. “He was holding a cloth. I didn’t think about it at the time, but I would say now it came from the altar.”
“Which hand was it in?”
“The right. I used it to wipe the blood from the floor.”
“Was that the same cloth you wrapped him in?”
“No, for that I used one of the drop cloths for the choir.”
Gareth had already guessed that. The one they’d found had blood on it, but not in the quantity James was describing.
“What did you do with the altar cloth afterwards?” Gwen asked.
“I-I-I burned it,” James said.
Gwen’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Why not simply bury it with the body?”
“I forgot about it in getting the body to the grave, which was already covered over by the time I came back to clean up. I took the cloth with me when I left and stuck it in one of the kitchen fires. At that hour of the night, the fire was still bright.” He shrugged. “It was gone in a matter of moments.”
While the nobleman had been speaking, Gareth had been keeping an eye on Father Dunstan, who had been listening to this conversation with evident alarm. Now the priest said, “Oh!”
“Father?” Gareth turned to him.
“That was the morning the altar cloth went missing.”
James frowned. “Why was it on the floor in the first place?”
“It wasn’t on the floor when I was talking to Aelred,” Margaret said softly, having listened to her husband’s answers with utter calm. “It was on the altar as it was supposed to be. If it had been on the floor, I would have put it back.”
“I didn’t remove it!” James was indignant.
“No.” Gwen spoke for the first time. “Aelred did it himself when he hit his head on the corner of the altar. He must have tripped coming up the step and grabbed the cloth in an attempt to arrest his fall.”
