Death riddle, p.3
Death Riddle, page 3
“They asked me if the shack was where Tosti lived and it was plain they intended to go inside. I knew that once they saw the serjeant’s body, they would think I had killed him. I had no choice but to run.”
“Were you carrying an ax?” Estrid asked.
“No, modor,” Godric answered, realising the soldiers must have found the ax he had seen in the shack and claimed he had used it to kill Rocher. “There was one there, lying on the floor near the door, but it was not mine and I did not touch it.”
“Did you see any other weapons?” Estrid asked.
“Only a short sword of the type that soldiers carry near the serjeant’s body. When I saw it I thought he must have used it to kill Tosti, but if he did, then someone else must have used the ax to kill him, for it was too far away from Tosti for him to have used it, especially after the wounds he sustained. He would have died almost immediately.”
“Describe the wounds that you saw on the bodies—both of them,” Gundulf interjected.
“Tosti had been gutted,” Godric replied, his voice low and shaking as he remembered the terrible mutilation, “just like one of the pigs he slaughtered, and stabbed in the heart as well. And the Norman looked as though he had been struck from behind—his spine was severed through to his jawbone and his head all but decapitated.”
The bishop paced a step or two, musing. “I cannot fault the soldiers for thinking you are guilty, Godric. Your presence there, along with the ax, is too coincidental.”
“I swear to you, Your Grace, on the immortal soul of my dead wife, that I am innocent,” Godric protested. “I did not kill either the serjeant or my friend, nor do I know who did.”
Estrid patted her son’s knee. “I do not doubt your innocence,” she assured him.
Gundulf studied Godric for a moment and then nodded. “Neither do I,” he said, “but not, I must admit, out of trust, like your mother, but because the evidence indicates otherwise.”
They both looked at him in non-comprehension.
“From your description of the wound that killed the serjeant,” Gundulf explained, “it would seem to me that his blood would have spurted for some distance when the death stroke was dealt, which would make it logical to assume that his murderer would be splattered with gore.” The bishop pointed to Godric’s tunic. “The men-at-arms, by their own admission, came upon you just as you were leaving the scene of the crime so you have not had any opportunity to cleanse yourself. It is therefore reasonable to conclude that if, as they claim, you were guilty, your hands and clothing would bear traces of blood. Since they do not, you must be innocent.”
Godric looked down at his body. His hands were grimy from his work at the forge, but there was no taint of blood on either them or his clothing. As relief spread over his face, Estrid’s hopes rose. “Could not this fact be used to prove my son’s innocence?” she asked Gundulf.
The bishop gave a sad shake of his head. “I fear not,” he told her. “It is certainly enough to convince me, but the soldiers?” He shrugged. “I doubt it. They will pay no attention to such small niceties.”
He spoke again to Godric. “Is there any chance there might be a witness who could help you? Someone, perhaps, who lives near the shack and may have seen the serjeant, or his killer, enter the building earlier?”
“I do not think so. There are no other dwellings along that lane—only a couple of storehouses—and they front on the next street over and have no entrances at the back, so it’s unlikely anyone would have been overlooking the shack.”
“And you did not know the dead Norman, or ever have conversation with him?” Gundulf asked.
“No, lord. I have seen him about the town, and think I remember him being called Rocher, but that is all.”
“Do you know why this serjeant was in Tosti’s shack, Godric?” Estrid asked.
When her son hesitated, she clasped his hand. “You must tell us the truth, son, there is no other way we can help you.”
“I did not know that Tosti and Rocher were acquainted, but they may have been meeting in connection with some fraud Tosti told me he was involved in concerning the pig meat he sold to the garrison. He always had money to spare and when I, or any of our friends, asked how he came by it he would not tell us, just said that his pigs were helping him be as devious as the Normans.”
Godric looked up at Gundulf. “I am sorry, lord, for the slur on your countrymen, but that is what he said.”
The quirk of a humourless smile curved the bishop’s wide mouth and he just nodded in acceptance of the apology. “It is possible this deception may have had something to do with the death of both your friend and the serjeant,” Gundulf said, “but that is only speculation and, as with the lack of bloodstains on your person, will not secure your release.”
He turned to Estrid, his hands folded into the wide sleeves of his habit. “I give you my promise that I will do my utmost to keep Godric safe for all of the forty days of sanctuary, but unless some way is found to prove his innocence, I fear that at the end of that time he will be taken into custody, tried and hanged.”
Estrid stood up. “I do not intend to let that happen, lord. Somehow I will find a way to exonerate him.”
Gundulf nodded. “I will pray for your success.”
CHAPTER 5
After taking a reluctant farewell of Godric, Estrid left the church, squeezing by the enormous Roger—who gave her a gruff word of commiseration—to get through the door. Outside, an anxious Gytha and Judith were waiting on the other side of a ring of men-at-arms encircling the cathedral doorway with a crowd of townsfolk standing in a silent group behind them. By Gytha’s side was the glowering figure of Wulfstan, the blacksmith for whom Godric worked. About fifty years of age, and of medium height, he seemed as broad as he was tall, with massive arms and shoulders swelled with muscles from years of plying his trade. His ham-like fists were clenched at his side and his drooping yellow moustache seemed to bristle as he glared at the guards in front of him.
“Is it true, Estrid? Did Godric murder that Norman?” Gytha asked, her tone full of dread.
“No, he says he did not and I believe him. Bishop Gundulf will keep him safe in the cathedral for the stipulated forty days, and I have pledged to bring him food and drink, as church law requires. But before the time is up, I must prove his innocence or he will be charged and most likely sentenced to death.”
“But what happened?” Gytha persisted. “Why do they think him guilty?”
Estrid glanced at the nearby soldiers, all of whom were listening intently to their conversation, as were the crowd of bystanders. “Let us go home,” she said, “and I will tell you there.”
Wulfstan nodded in agreement. The men-at-arms would be listening for any scrap of information they could use to prove Godric’s guilt and, as for the crowd of English, although it was distasteful to think so, there might be one or two amongst them who would betray a fellow countryman in order to curry favour from their Norman overlords.
Gytha was quick to grasp Estrid's implication and she and Judith turned away to follow Wulfstan as he cleaved a path through the throng with his impressive bulk. Estrid followed at a slower pace, and as she passed the townsfolk, was offered many murmured words of comfort and encouragement. She returned all of these with a silent nod of gratitude, her head held high.
The house that Estrid lived in had originally been owned by Lady Emma, but after the conquest, when all of Emma’s property, including the house, had been taken from her and given, in a flush of gratitude to heaven for his victory, by William of Normandy to the church, she had managed to retain residence of her home by paying a fee for tenancy. When Lady Emma had died, Estrid had been allowed to continue the agreement in her own name.
The building, although of modest proportions, was sturdily built, and had been given to Emma by her long dead husband as a morning gift on the day after they were married. It had a foundation of stone, with wooden walls above, and was two storeys high with a tiled roof. At one time the upper floor had been comprised of only the large sleeping chamber Emma and her husband had used, but when it became necessary for her to provide herself with an income, she had converted the huge room into an embroidery workshop, leaving the ground floor to serve as living and sleeping quarters.
As they approached the door, Estrid’s servant, Cuthbert, was waiting for them, an apprehensive expression on his face. He had been with them since shortly after they had arrived in Rochester, and was afflicted with a deformed spine which caused a hump on his back. Gytha had seen him begging for alms from the monks at the cathedral and, asking him his background, had learned that he was of Saxon stock and that his sole protector, an older brother, had been killed during the aftermath of the battle at Senlac when the conquering duke had ordered his soldiers to ravage the countryside. Gytha had immediately recommended him to Lady Emma, who was looking for a responsible servant, and she had offered him the post, which he had eagerly accepted. Despite his affliction, he was surprisingly strong and tended to all their needs—cooking, cleaning and the washing of clothes—and was grateful for the shelter of a small cubbyhole at the back of the house to sleep in. Because of her kindness in aiding him to earn a living, he was devoted to Gytha and treated her with great deference.
“Master Godric,” he asked now, in a fearful tone, “he is safe?”
“For the time being, Cuthbert, thanks be to God,” Estrid replied. “Bring us all some mead, please, and a cup of small ale for Judith. Also some refreshment for yourself, and then you may sit with us and learn what has happened.”
Cuthbert scurried away in his awkward rolling gait, and the others went into the main room on the lower floor. In here was a long table and benches where their meals were taken and, set into an exterior wall and encased in stone, a recently installed Norman device that was new to England, a hearth with a flue that ended in an opening in the roof instead of the former centrally placed hearth that had only allowed smoke from the fire to escape through wall vents. Gundulf, in addition to being a cleric, was also a skilful engineer, having advised the old duke on the building on the great white Tower in London, and was overseeing the erection of the new castle within Rochester’s walls. When he had been elected bishop of Rochester in 1077, he had instructed his masons to install the innovation in many of the buildings on church property. Estrid was extremely grateful for the one in their home, especially in the depths of winter when the logs in the hearth-place were kept burning continually. Although the heat was slightly less, the absence of smoke-filled air in all of the rooms was a blessing. Now, with the summer warmth, the fire was unlit, for Cuthbert did the cooking in a shack in the yard at the back of the house. On the far side of the room, in Saxon fashion, were four partitioned wooden cubicles where Estrid, Gytha and Godric laid their pallets, with an extra one that used to be Lady Emma's and was now unoccupied.
After Cuthbert brought the mead and ale, along with a cup of goat’s milk for himself—he never drank anything stronger for he said it made his back ache—they all seated themselves around the table and waited for Estrid to tell them what had happened.
She related all that her son had told her—how Godric had gone to Tosti’s shack because he had been worried about him, that when he arrived he had found the old sow, Gruntzen, penned up in the yard in a furious temper, and how he had found the dead bodies of his friend and the Norman serjeant inside the building.
“From the nature of Tosti’s wounds, it is not clear whether he was killed first and the serjeant despatched afterwards, or if it was the other way around, but Godric is fairly certain that another person must have been involved. He also reasoned that Gruntzen most likely witnessed the crime and that is why she was so intent on getting free—to attack this third person.”
She glanced at Gytha. “You remember how Godric once told us that the pig acted as Tosti’s watchdog when he was absent from the shack? She is very ferocious and if this unknown person is the one who caused Tosti’s death, Godric is certain she would try to bite him. If she did, the murderer may have penned her up to forestall her. He thinks that is why she ran away so quickly when he opened the gate, to follow the killer’s scent and try to repay him for the harm he had done her master.
“The soldiers arrived just as Godric was leaving Tosti’s property,” she went on, “and it was then, knowing he would be suspected of killing the serjeant, that he ran for the cathedral. Fortunately he was able to reach the fryth stool before they could catch him and it is due to Bishop Gundulf’s intervention that the men-at-arms were prevented from entering the church and seizing him.”
She looked around at them all, her breath momentarily catching in her throat as she thought again of how close her son had come to capture. “There is only one way we can prevent Godric from being tried and hanged for a crime he did not commit, and that is to discover the identity of the true murderer. And we have just forty days to do so.”
Judith stifled a sob at the fate that awaited her mistress’ son if they were not successful, and Gytha spat out an oath. “Cursed Normans,” she muttered. “Well, they shall not take him. I will kill them myself if they lay their filthy hands on him. I have not forgotten how to use a langseax.”
Despite the seriousness of Godric's predicament, Estrid gave Gytha a small smile. The older woman had been her attendant for many years, and was just as loyal to Estrid as she had been to her mother; she was more than capable of doing as she threatened, and her boast was not an idle one. When Gytha had been young, she had been tracked by a pair of wolves in the Andresweald, an extensive forest that covered much of south-eastern England. Realising how close she had come to being savaged by the beasts, she had begged her older brother, a warrior in the household guard of Estrid’s father, to teach her how to defend herself with a weapon. He had agreed and, surprised by her aptitude for wielding an ax, had given her extensive training until she had become proficient enough to stand alongside the men of the village where their parents lived when, while she was on a visit there, they had been attacked by a band of marauding Frisians who had come across the Narrow Sea to plunder English habitations near the south coast. Her actions that day had earned her the reputation of an able warrior.
While female combatants were not common, they were also not rare, and often mentioned in tales told around the fireside, such as Queen Ethelburga, wife of a king of Wessex who had led an army to destroy Taunton, and Lady Aethelfled, daughter of the great King Alfred, who commanded the defence of the Mercians against the treacherous Danes.
Throughout the years they had lived in Rochester, Gytha had, in secrecy, kept up practice of her skill within the confines of the high fence that surrounded the yard in back of the house, hurling the small double-headed ax with which she was so proficient at a block of wood used as a target and keeping her arms strong by slicing at another block with a heavy metal bar of the same length as the langseax—a single edged sword about two feet in length—that she had brought with her on the day they had left the burh of Estrid’s father so many years ago. The sword was still in excellent condition for she kept it wrapped and greased in a sheath lined with sheepskin hidden in a chest on the upper floor.
Estrid knew that Gytha was perfectly capable of trying to rescue Godric by force of arms if there was need and Estrid was in agreement with her. Gytha had encouraged Estrid to learn the art of weaponry alongside her in the yard so she could defend herself and her son against their Norman overlords if the need arose, and although her skill fell far short of Gytha’s, she would willingly use her small ability to try and keep her son from death rather than stand meekly by while he was hanged.
Wulfstan added his support. “If that time comes,” he said solemnly, “neither of you will stand alone. I promise you.”
The blacksmith had been their friend since their early years in Rochester. Married and with two strapping daughters but no sons, he had taken a liking to Godric when, as a young child, he had haunted the forge to watch Wulfstan and the other two smiths employed by the blacksmith at their work. Over time Wulfstan had allowed Godric to help in small tasks, sorting nails, or smearing repaired farm implements with goose grease. As he had grown, Wulfstan had allowed him more responsibility until finally, when he was old enough to tackle more arduous duties and his enthusiasm had not waned, the smith had taken him on as apprentice. The relationship between the two was much like that of uncle and nephew, and the affection reciprocal. Estrid knew that Wulfstan meant what he said when he promised he would stand beside them to defend Godric, however dangerous it might be, and was grateful for his support.
“Let us hope that will not be necessary,” Estrid said. “But while we are speaking of weapons, the ax the soldier was holding and that he claimed had been used to slay the Norman—it did not appear to be a warrior’s tool, but just an ordinary household implement.”
“I agree,” Wulfstan said. “From where we were standing waiting for you outside the cathedral I could see it clearly in the soldier’s hand and noticed that it was plain, and with a one-sided blade, and not a throwing ax such as an Englishman would choose. It could easily have been a weapon of opportunity rather than choice, perhaps even Tosti’s own, picked up from the woodpile outside his shack for the purpose. So even though an ax would appear to indicate it was one of our countrymen who wielded it, the murderer could just as easily have been a Norman.”
“Or was used in the hope that an Englishman would be accused of the killing,” Gytha interjected angrily. “As has happened to Godric.”
They mused upon the implications of this for a few moments, and then the blacksmith said to Estrid, “You said that that the order of the killing was not clear, and that one of the two dead men may have slain the other before a third person killed the man that remained alive. Does Godric know of any animosity between Tosti and the serjeant that was serious enough for one of them to resort to murder?”
