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Day One
Gwen
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Gwen realized her statement was provocative the moment it came out of her mouth, but it was too late to take it back—and she didn’t want to anyway.
“What do you mean by that?” Bishop Gregory’s tone showed irritation. “Of course Harald was murdered. How else could he have ended up here?”
Gwen coughed discreetly into her fist. “I apologize, your Grace. My intent was to suggest we shouldn’t draw any conclusions as yet.”
“Harald was in the prime of his life! I saw him crossing the courtyard yesterday morning. He was as hale and hearty as any man.”
Gareth put out a hand, coming to Gwen’s rescue. “What Gwen means to say, your Grace, is that there is some question as to how Harald came to be lying on your altar, and until we discover how he died, we can’t make a judgement as to why.”
Bishop Gregory made another helpless gesture. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s just that he’s wearing armor, Father.” Gwen stepped closer. “And I can see from here that he wears a padded shirt under his mail.”
“Yes, I see that too. I understand that would be normal.”
“It is, your Grace. That’s the problem—” she looked at Gareth, helpless herself to explain and worried that the more she spoke, the more Bishop Gregory was closing his ears. She appreciated the fact that Godfrid loved and respected the bishop, but he was still a bishop and unused to listening to women.
Coming to her rescue again, Gareth lowered his voice in that commanding but understanding way he had. “I have worn mail most of my adult life. I have also cared for friends and foes who died in battle. It is a struggle to remove gear such as he wears from a dead man, but with help, it can be done. But to dress a man who is already dead—”
“I didn’t see it until now myself, your Grace, but I agree it is all but impossible.” Conall reached out a hand to lift the man’s arm.
Gwen had been tempted to do so herself, and would have if any more time had passed. But she could see from where she stood that the movement took effort, and the body was stiff with rigor. Though she chose not to speak the words out loud, everyone in the room but Bishop Gregory would know it put the time of death in the vicinity of twelve hours earlier. As it was just past noon now, that meant Harald had died near midnight or soon after.
Gareth was still looking into Bishop Gregory’s face. “My lord Conall is correct, your Grace.”
Gwen thought it safe to add, “To arm a man requires help. That’s why knights have squires.”
“My son, Llelo,” Gareth pointed to where Llelo stood quietly just inside the door, watching and waiting to be of assistance, as he’d learned to do, “aided me in the matter before our boat docked in Dublin.”
At Bishop Gregory’s glance towards him, Llelo straightened his spine and took up the tale. For a young man of lowly beginnings, he had spoken in the presence of more than one person of power, including Prince Henry himself. Gwen thought Gareth was wise to point Llelo out to Bishop Gregory, since the bishop would find it harder to argue with four people telling him what he didn’t want to hear, particularly when one was a clear-eyed young man with no stake in the proceedings.
“The gambeson lies close to the skin and has little stretch to it.” Llelo spoke with the authority of one who knew what he was talking about. “It is a struggle to get my father into it every morning, even with his active assistance. Now that I wear armor myself, we help each other.”
Bishop Gregory frowned. “Perhaps his gambeson is laced all the way up the back, like a woman’s dress.”
“It could be.” Llelo answered again. “But then the mail wouldn’t lie flat against the back, which is part of what makes our gear comfortable to wear all day and protective in the first place.”
“What are you saying?” Bishop Gregory’s eyes narrowed. “That Harald was alive when he put on this costume?”
“Yes,” Gwen said, finding she couldn’t remain silent. “That is what we are saying.”
“But he didn’t place himself here! He couldn’t have!”
Gwen and Gareth exchanged a glance, and Gareth made a tiny motion with his hand, down by his right side, telling Gwen he would take care of this.
As Gwen had grown older, she was more impatient with not being listened to, but also more willing to let a slight go. She and Gareth were a team, and there was no shame in recognizing those moments when one or the other would do better questioning a suspect or witness.
Thus, Gareth gave Bishop Gregory’s outrage the moment of respect it deserved, before beginning to guide his thoughts again. “When were you last in this chapel, your Grace?”
“Last night, moments before I retired. We have just begun to keep monks’ hours here. I say mass morning and evening in the cathedral with the Benedictines, but I pray at noon and at bedtime here, leaving the other services to the prior of the monastery to lead.” Bishop Gregory made a motion with his head. “The transition from priests being the custodians of the cathedral to monks hasn’t been entirely smooth. Concessions have had to be made on all sides.”
It was an admission he didn’t have to make, but such was his apparent trust in them that he spoke without hesitation. Churchmen, as a rule, wouldn’t come to blows. In fact, Gwen had never witnessed such an occasion, nor heard of one. It was unusual, however, to have a prior, rather than an abbot, lead the monks at a monastery. It was the bishop’s job to appoint a monastery’s abbot, even as the bishop was overall head of the community, as he was here. Perhaps they were still working out the details of their new arrangement and this was part of the conflict he was referencing.
“What hour would that have been, your Grace?” Conall asked.
Bishop Gregory puffed out a breath. “Nine in the evening, or thereabouts.”
“Would there have been anyone in the church between then and dawn?” Gareth asked.
“Our brothers would have met for prayer after the midnight hour. As it is in the dark of night, the office would have been brief.” Bishop Gregory made a gesture, indicating the entrance to the chapel, and a man a few years younger than he stepped into the room. Gwen didn’t know how long he’d been hovering there and wasn’t pleased with herself for not noticing sooner.
The monk was of medium height, a bit portly, with graying brown hair and troubled brown eyes. “I am Prior James. Harald did not attend Matins last night, and he was not in his cell.”
“Was that ... usual?” Gwen asked.
“Of late, it had been. The elders in our community had been considering what to do about it. Some counseled patience. His brother had recently died, and his mother lives in the city. Many nights he asked leave to be with her.” He made a helpless gesture. “It seemed reasonable not to chide him, but it is clear now he misled us about his activities.”
Now Bishop Gregory swallowed hard. “I really was meant to find him, wasn’t I?”
“I find it likely,” Gareth said.
Prior James moved closer to the bishop, and such was the relationship between the two men that he put a hand on Bishop Gregory’s upper arm in comfort. “I am sorry you were the one to find him.” James turned to look at the others. “If you are agreeable, may I ask that we make no pronouncements as of yet about how Harald came to be armed as he is and particularly not how he came to lie on this altar?”
Gwen wasn’t sure if James was speaking to all of them or just Bishop Gregory, but everyone nodded.
“That is acceptable to me, since we don’t know anything about it as of yet,” Gareth said. “I appreciate that you prefer not to speculate. That is my preference as well.”
But then Prior James gripped Bishop Gregory’s shoulder a little more tightly. The two men clearly knew each other very well, with much mutual respect. “Your Grace, if Harald arrayed himself thus and laid himself on the altar in hopes you would find him, that means he may have—” he broke off, thinking better of finishing his sentence.
Gwen wasn’t going to help him, and neither was anyone else. They all waited while Bishop Gregory swallowed hard and his jaw firmed. Then he looked up and focused his eyes on Gareth. “As you say, we will not speculate. But I expect you to tell me the truth when you learn how he died—and why he died—whatever that truth may be.”
“I will. I promise,” Gareth said. “Do you have a laying out room where we could examine the body more closely?”
“Of course. I will arrange it.” Bishop Gregory started down the aisle, clearly intending to set off on that quest immediately.
“It would also be helpful to inspect his belongings,” Gwen said before the bishop could leave.
Bishop Gregory hesitated and looked at James, who answered. “Harald had a small cell, as does each monk, where he kept a few personal items.”
“He didn’t sleep in a dormitory?” Gareth came to stand beside Gwen.
“The dormitory holds the novices and monks newer to Dublin.” James gestured to the bishop. “We are still working out some arrangements.”
“Perhaps Gwen could be taken to Harald’s quarters while Lord Conall and I see to the body.” He glanced at Gwen, who nodded her agreement.
“Of course.” Again Bishop Gregory took a step towards the door, and again it was Gwen who stopped him.
“Your Grace, just to be clear, it is your intent to charge us with this investigation?”
“Yes, of course.”
“If that’s the case, your Grace,” Gareth said, finishing Gwen’s thought, “we will have many questions—of you and of everyone else who lives and works around the cathedral.”
“And that’s just to start,” Conall said. “What Gareth and Gwen are trying to do is warn you that once they begin, they will follow the investigation through to the end, whatever that end might be.”
“In other words, you will be intrusive and relentless.” For the first time, there was a lightness behind Bishop Gregory’s eyes. “I did ask for the truth. My friends, I have heard enough about your investigations from Abbot Rhys and from Prince Godfrid that I would be disappointed if you gave me anything less.”
