William’s. He has been strangled, which is why he is unrecognizable. And look at this. Look what was used to strangle him.’
He bent to close the bulging eyes so far as was possible. The effect, if anything, was worse. Averting his gaze, he lifted the end of the leather strap which lay across the shoulder of the blue gown.
‘This is someone’s belt,’ he said.
‘The poor boy,’ said Maister Coventry.
‘There’s worse,’ said Gil, still peering at the body. ‘Look – his hands are bound.’
Producing a set of beads from his sleeve, Patrick Coventry bent his head and began the quick, familiar muttering of the prayers for the dead. Gil stepped past him and out of the coalhouse as the sound of hasty feet in the courtyard heralded Maister Kennedy.
‘Nick,’ he said.
‘Where is the boy? What’s come to him? Andrew and Ralph said –’
‘Nick, are you wearing any sort of belt?’
His friend stared at him, his mobile brows twitching.
‘My belt? No, as a matter of fact, I’m not. No room for a purse under this, and no need for one over it, in these robes.’
‘Do you have one? Where is it?’
‘In my chamber. Do you need it? What’s happened, Gil?’
‘William’s dead,’ said Gil bluntly. ‘He’s been strangled, with someone’s belt, and his hands are tied with another one. Whoever makes enquiry into this will be very interested in belts.’
Nick Kennedy looked from Gil, to Patrick Coventry still murmuring prayers, to the shadows in the coalhouse.
‘Christ aid,’ he said. ‘He will, won’t he. Let’s have a look.’
Gil slipped past the Second Regent and into the dim space again, positioning himself carefully away from the window. Nick, following him, checked visibly at the sight of the distorted face and lolling tongue.
‘Christ aid,’ he said again. ‘You wereny mistaken about the strangling. Well,’ he said to the indifferent corpse, ‘I’ve threatened to throttle you myself often enough, but I suppose I’m sorry now someone’s done it. Poor laddie. Should we no move him, Gil?’
‘William is certainly beyond aid,’ Gil pointed out. ‘There is little point in moving him, and I think we should notify the Dean and the Principal first. Moreover, this is clearly secret murder, and I know last time I viewed a body I could have done with seeing her where she died.’
Nick looked from the corpse to the shadowy heaps of coal and stacked wood.
‘If you say so,’ he said. ‘Well, I’d better tell them. Will you bide here or come with me?’
Gil, who had been giving some thought to exactly this question, said, ‘Would you say, Nick, we three have been within sight of one another the whole time, since the end of the play?’
Both men stared at him. Maister Coventry’s lips still moved, but Maister Kennedy’s mouth had fallen open. After a moment he recovered it.
‘St Peter’s bones,’ he said, without inflection. ‘Someone did this, didn’t they? And I threatened to throttle him. I swear by the Rood, Gil, I’ve never been so glad in my life to have taken a driddle in company. We were maybe not all three in sight of one another, but none of us could have got here from the Arthurlie garden with time to do this and be back before the other two noticed he’d gone.’
Gil nodded.
‘Maister Coventry,’ he said. The Second Regent raised his head. ‘I suggest you lock the door and let none past until the Dean and Maister Doby are here.’
The small man nodded, without interrupting his prayers, and followed them out of the coalhouse. Locking the door carefully, he stationed himself in front of it and took up his beads again as Gil and Nick set off across the courtyard.
The students who had formed the search party were at the foot of the stairs to the Fore Hall. The three senior bachelors were standing aside in a row, the stocky boy in the middle; two more were wrestling, some others kicking a stone about. As their seniors approached the games ceased.
‘Is it
He bent to close the bulging eyes so far as was possible. The effect, if anything, was worse. Averting his gaze, he lifted the end of the leather strap which lay across the shoulder of the blue gown.
‘This is someone’s belt,’ he said.
‘The poor boy,’ said Maister Coventry.
‘There’s worse,’ said Gil, still peering at the body. ‘Look – his hands are bound.’
Producing a set of beads from his sleeve, Patrick Coventry bent his head and began the quick, familiar muttering of the prayers for the dead. Gil stepped past him and out of the coalhouse as the sound of hasty feet in the courtyard heralded Maister Kennedy.
‘Nick,’ he said.
‘Where is the boy? What’s come to him? Andrew and Ralph said –’
‘Nick, are you wearing any sort of belt?’
His friend stared at him, his mobile brows twitching.
‘My belt? No, as a matter of fact, I’m not. No room for a purse under this, and no need for one over it, in these robes.’
‘Do you have one? Where is it?’
‘In my chamber. Do you need it? What’s happened, Gil?’
‘William’s dead,’ said Gil bluntly. ‘He’s been strangled, with someone’s belt, and his hands are tied with another one. Whoever makes enquiry into this will be very interested in belts.’
Nick Kennedy looked from Gil, to Patrick Coventry still murmuring prayers, to the shadows in the coalhouse.
‘Christ aid,’ he said. ‘He will, won’t he. Let’s have a look.’
Gil slipped past the Second Regent and into the dim space again, positioning himself carefully away from the window. Nick, following him, checked visibly at the sight of the distorted face and lolling tongue.
‘Christ aid,’ he said again. ‘You wereny mistaken about the strangling. Well,’ he said to the indifferent corpse, ‘I’ve threatened to throttle you myself often enough, but I suppose I’m sorry now someone’s done it. Poor laddie. Should we no move him, Gil?’
‘William is certainly beyond aid,’ Gil pointed out. ‘There is little point in moving him, and I think we should notify the Dean and the Principal first. Moreover, this is clearly secret murder, and I know last time I viewed a body I could have done with seeing her where she died.’
Nick looked from the corpse to the shadowy heaps of coal and stacked wood.
‘If you say so,’ he said. ‘Well, I’d better tell them. Will you bide here or come with me?’
Gil, who had been giving some thought to exactly this question, said, ‘Would you say, Nick, we three have been within sight of one another the whole time, since the end of the play?’
Both men stared at him. Maister Coventry’s lips still moved, but Maister Kennedy’s mouth had fallen open. After a moment he recovered it.
‘St Peter’s bones,’ he said, without inflection. ‘Someone did this, didn’t they? And I threatened to throttle him. I swear by the Rood, Gil, I’ve never been so glad in my life to have taken a driddle in company. We were maybe not all three in sight of one another, but none of us could have got here from the Arthurlie garden with time to do this and be back before the other two noticed he’d gone.’
Gil nodded.
‘Maister Coventry,’ he said. The Second Regent raised his head. ‘I suggest you lock the door and let none past until the Dean and Maister Doby are here.’
The small man nodded, without interrupting his prayers, and followed them out of the coalhouse. Locking the door carefully, he stationed himself in front of it and took up his beads again as Gil and Nick set off across the courtyard.
The students who had formed the search party were at the foot of the stairs to the Fore Hall. The three senior bachelors were standing aside in a row, the stocky boy in the middle; two more were wrestling, some others kicking a stone about. As their seniors approached the games ceased.
‘Is it
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