Free The Saltergate Psalter by Chris Nickson Page B

was a low throb at the back of his head. But there was no point in going back to his bed. His mind was working now; he’d never get to sleep.
    In the morning he’d look at Edward’s body. Very likely there was nothing to find, some cuts, a fatal blow. The tale – thieves falling out – could be a true one. It was certainly simple; it wrapped everything up.
    But he just didn’t believe it. No matter how much he wanted to, it wouldn’t sit right in his mind.
    The coroner was satisfied. Why couldn’t he be, too?
    He ate a little more, trying to think things through. Edward and Gilbert must have stayed in Chesterfield, not fled. They’d put their trust in someone. Had he betrayed them or killed them?
    His mind moved to Julian, the brooding, threatening presence he’d met the afternoon before. It wasn’t too difficult to imagine him behind all this. A man who’d murder without too many qualms. And people like that always had willing followers.
    He ran his hands down his face, as if he could draw away the tiredness behind his eyes.
    ‘John?’
    He looked up to see Walter watching him. Sometimes the lad could move as silently as a ghost. At other times he clumped through the house like a herd of cattle.
    ‘Do you want something to eat?’ He gestured at the food.
    ‘You left very early.’
    ‘I know.’ He sighed softly. ‘The coroner needed me.’
    ‘Has someone else died?’
    ‘Edward and Gilbert.’
    Walter’s face turned pale.
    ‘Don’t worry. It’s safe enough. They can’t hurt anyone else now. I have to go back in a little while,’ John continued. ‘You can come with me, if you want.’
    ‘I do, John,’ he said firmly.
    ‘Then get yourself something to eat first. It might be a long day. Are Katherine and the girls still asleep?’
    ‘Yes.’
    At least someone was, he thought wearily.
    • • •
    John knew that Walter was nervous. The lad seemed tense as he walked, eyes searching around in the early light. But he wanted to come along and see the dead. To be a part of this.
    It was going to be another warm day. Dawn felt gentle, lulling, the sun appearing off to the east. The road was broad enough for two carts to pass, the verges wide, a King’s highway that led all the way to Doncaster.
    He breathed deep, taking in all the scents. In the woods there was a chorus of birdsong, the pretty music of the countryside. It was a morning for picking up his leather bag of tools and going to work. To make something that would last and feel the wood take shape under his hands. Not a morning for viewing the dead.
    But the corpse was there, lying in the grass, exactly as it had been last night. The bailiff sat with his back against a tree, waving his hand in lazy greeting.
    The flies had gathered on Edward’s body; he had to keep brushing them away as he examined the corpse. The same type of wounds on the forearms. The fatal blow had been to the chest, a wide patch of blood dried rust-red on the man’s shirt. He checked: the purse strings had been cut.
    ‘Look all around,’ he told Walter. ‘Be as thorough as you can. I don’t expect there’ll be much to find, but we need to look.’
    Half an hour later, with the heat of the day beginning to rise, he called an end to it. Nothing at all.
    ‘What are the arrangements for the body?’ he asked the bailiff.
    The man shrugged a reply. ‘They’ll send a cart out soon enough. Are you finished, Master?’
    He nodded. ‘The pedlar who found him. Do you know where he’s staying?’
    ‘He’ll be with old Gabriel out by West Bar. Always stays there. He’s been coming round every few months for years now. Plenty of folk know him.’
    Not to be suspected, in other words. He nodded and turned away, Walter beside him.
    ‘What do we do now, John?’
    ‘I think we’ll start by finding out more about Julian the Butcher,’ he said thoughtfully.
    He rubbed his wounded arm. It would be several days before it was strong enough to finish work on the barn in