Page 44 of The Herald's Heart
Talon nodded and tried to shove open the door.
“The earl endowed the original abbey buildings and gives a large donation yearly. He also gives generously to several monasteries, both here and in France. The earl does much good with his gold.”
“If you say so, Father, but my experience of him is different.” Talon ran his hands over the oaken planks.
“I thought you had not seen the earl in more than two score years.”
“Not since his first wife, my mother, died. Father Timoras, fetch Davy the smith. These hinges are iron. He can dismantle them. Then we can lift the door away.”
Timoras raised his robe, exposing skinny legs, and left at a run.
• • •
When the blacksmith indicated the hinges were freed, Talon lent his aid, and the two men wrestled the door out of the way.
The stench that oozed from the room nearly felled him.
Timoras bent over at the outer corner of the chapel, retching into the rushes.
Cleve held his nose.
“God’s privy,” uttered the hard-nosed blacksmith. “Smells like something died in there.”
Grabbing a torch from a nearby sconce, Talon raised his other arm and covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve.
Dust motes filled the air in the room, glowing golden as they touched the flame. He bent to study the object on the floor near the altar.
The tongue hung out of the flyblown body. Swelling distorted the blackened features. Small bumps blistered the corpse’s face and hands. From the clothing, Talon deduced that the corpse had belonged to a man.
“Sweet Jesu, save us all.”
He heard rustling behind him. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw Timoras a few paces behind, staring at the corpse.
“Do you know this man?”
The good father had covered his face and moaned. “It’s so hideous. How can I tell?”
The smith, being made of sterner stuff, bent over the body. “Look at the signet ring.” He pointed to the body’s left hand where a gold band constricted one of the torn, swollen fingers. The lively sparkle of a green stone mocked the mortality of its wearer. “’Tis likely this is the earl.”
Timoras peered out from behind his hands and looked the body over with shocked interest. “Aye, ’tis the earl’s ring. And the hair. He was vain about his hair that, even at his age, had not yet grayed.”
Talon shot his gaze to the top of the earl’s head where guinea-gold locks spread out above the worm-pocked forehead.
“What do you think killed him?” the smith asked.
“I don’t know,” Talon replied. “He may have died naturally.”
“He don’t look natural to me,” Cleve commented.
“No, he does not.”
“What should we do?” Timoras chimed in.
“Leave him here.”
“No! He must have a proper burial.”
“That he will, Father Timoras, but I wish to seek advice first, to see if we can determine what caused the earl’s death.”
