Page 64 of The Cornish Princess
Here and now, Gwendolyn met Málik’s gaze, and they shared another knowing look, and she knew… he knew.
“We’ll put him on a pyre,” suggested Cunedda.
“Thank you,” said Gwendolyn, and she turned to quit the room—if only to go make certain the leftover prunes remained untouched. She went first to the other guard’s mount, only because she felt certain Málik knew better than to eat his. Luckily, all the prunes were still there, precisely where Gwendolyn had put them, although the guard was nowhere to be found, quite likely pouring ale down his gullet over the loss of a fellow.
Málik followed Gwendolyn out, watching as she unsheathed the blade from her boot and stabbed it into the meat of the prunes she held, cutting it to the pit. Handing part of it to Málik, she put her own nose to the part she held—frowning as she smelled it.
There was the faintest mousy scent. Still, it was there.
Dropping the prune, Gwendolyn did what she’d not done in years—acquiesced to a full fit of fury, crushing the meat beneath her heel, furious with herself for missing this clue.
When finally she was in command of herself, she eyed the half Málik held, and confessed, “I took them from Bryok’s home.”
Málik nodded as tears stung her eyes.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he allowed, and his tone held none of its former reproach. However, it simply wasn’t true. The one thing she had known was that poison was suspected in Bryok’s murder—why, then, had she taken his fruit?
Alas, Gwendolyn needed an ally—and more. She needed Málik’s help to uncover this conspiracy. But she needed more than poison prunes before she could go running to her father with accusations. For all she knew, these prunes could have been a parting gift from a wife to an errant husband—a rude farewell. And yet, deep down in her heart, she knew that wasn’t true.
Clarity came swiftly to her in that instant.
Someone left the prunes in Bryok’s house to intentionally kill the Alderman. What was more, it didn’t happen when everyone said it did. He couldn’t have smelled so terrible in the space of a single day. He’d died long before his morning shift, and long before the end of his last. Someone failed to report it. Someone then moved his body from the place of his death and tidied his home, then took his body to a place where they could do him some violence to deflect suspicion. Except, when they cleaned the Alderman’s house, they forgot to take the prunes.
Now, Gwendolyn must determine whether the Alderman’s wife had a hand in this, or if she was innocent of the crime.
ChapterTwenty-Five
Ia took the news of her husband’s death poorly, sobbing in her hands whilst her mother ushered the older children out of the house and held the youngest on her hip.
Once they were out of the room, Gwendolyn explained, as gently as she was able, about the discovery of her husband’s body in the alley behind the smelting house.
She didn’t tell her about the hammer, nor the state of his body after the “wolves” had their way with him. Some details were unnecessary, she decided, and it didn’t take long for Gwendolyn to realize that Ia had had nothing to do with her husband’s death.
Indeed, whoever filled those prunes knew she and her children would be gone, and that only Bryok would have access to them.
Moreover, whoever poisoned them must have known enough to know how to handle the cuttings. The fumes alone could kill as readily as the ingestion. But if one did not know how to harvest or prepare the potion—as the physician implied—it could cause blisters to form, or discolorations that lasted days, even weeks; perhaps this was what Mester Ciarán had been searching for during the examination in his laboratory?
Only now Gwendolyn wished she had inspected the most obvious suspects for evidence on their hands. Especially considering that Mester Ciarán also had a bowl of those same prunes in his laboratory. Was it Mester Ciarán who injected the prunes?
If so, and he allowed Gwendolyn to eat them, he would face the executioner. But something told her he did not. And there was also that strange encounter between Mester Ciarán and the Mester Alderman in her father’s hall the day they’d brought in Bryok’s body.
Gwendolyn knew it took about six bells after death, or thereabouts, before a body’s humors ceased to flow. She knew this because she was a hunter. Once the blood congealed, cadavers didn’t bleed, except through the ordeal of the bier. Considering that, it was rather odd Mester Ciarán should hand his staff to Alderman Eirwyn to poke at the body. Why should he do so, unless he, too, suspected the Mester Alderman of Bryok’s murder? Furthermore, if Mester Ciarán suspected Eirwyn, and Eirwyn knew it, mayhap those prunes in his laboratory were meant to silence Mester Ciarán once and for all?
As soon as Gwendolyn returned, she must seek the physician. Perhaps he would corroborate her suspicions, or mayhap he’d discovered something more.
She was only glad now that she’d taken his prunes—and then suddenly she remembered something. The day she’d eaten Mester Ciarán’s prunes… this was the day she’d retched over Málik. By far, that was the most she’d eaten at once, and not so many since.
She peered up at Málik, who stood beside her, reminding herself to tell him about this later. In the meantime, Gwendolyn laid a hand over Ia’s, and said, “Do you know of anyone who might have wished your husband ill?”
Ia shook her head.
“Did you find he was angry when you left?”
“Why should he be?”
Gwendolyn lifted her shoulders. “Because youlefthim?”
“Nay! I did not!” cried Ia. “I did not leave him. He told me to go!” The woman sounded utterly incensed, as though she must be telling the truth. “He said he would follow,” she said. “He said he would speak with the Mester Alderman. He said he would leave his position.” She blew her nose then, and added, “He promised me a better life.”
