The Service of the Dead

She was relieved when they came to the far transept, to the warren of booths in which lawyers would be conducting church business later that day. The crowded area felt more like a human habitat. Richard Clifford paused before a small door that stood ajar. “Have a care, the steps are shallow, uneven, and narrow. I will lead.”

“How did Phillip know of these?” Kate wondered aloud as she climbed. The steps were carved into the thickness of the stone walls, the stairway like a catacomb.

“The masons use these daily. They have workrooms up above the chapter house.”

So it was no mystery how Phillip knew of these steps. “But he could not have simply happened on Connor. He must have been following on the man’s heels. Did he witness what happened?”

“I have not been able to make much sense of his story.”

Quiet voices echoed along the steps, and soon Kate emerged into a space dominated by huge wooden beams angling up into the darkness.

“These immense rafters support the chapter house without a central pillar,” Richard said in a hushed, reverent tone. Lanterns hung in regular intervals from the thick beams.

“How could anyone climb up to hang themselves so high?” she asked.

“Over there.” He led her about ten steps farther, to a board balanced on trestles, a stool providing a step up. “The men say it’s always placed over here and moved about as they hang the lanterns, but someone had taken the board and hidden it in one of the rooms. This is where Connor was, and this the noose.” He lifted the thick rope, nodded to where several men stood with heads bowed by something on the floor. “The broken nose, split lip, and the fresh wound on the back of Connor’s head were noted before they cut him down. None of it the result of their rough handling. They swear to it. He was one of their own.”

Kate crossed herself and nodded.

Near the men sat Lady Margery, her legs curled up beneath her. She was offering a wineskin to Phillip, who sat cross-legged, rocking back and forth and wringing his long-fingered hands as he gazed at the body, ignoring her. Someone had kindly covered the dead man’s head with a jacket.

As Kate crouched down in front of Phillip, Lady Margery touched her arm. “Dear Katherine, I am so glad you are here.”

“And I you. Thank you for staying with him.” The boy’s fine eyes were swollen, his nose red. “Phillip?” Kate cupped his ice-cold hands in hers, stilling them. Someone had brought him a fur-lined mantle, but he had let it drop behind him. He wore his favorite jacket, not nearly warm enough for the weather. She draped the mantle across his slender shoulders.

“I could not save him,” he whispered. “Not tall enough, not strong enough, too late.” Phillip did not look at her, but down and to one side, numbly staring at the draped body.

Kate took the wineskin from Lady Margery and tried to put it in the boy’s hands, but he would not grasp it. “Drink some of the wine, Phillip. Drink.”

He shook his head. “They would not listen to me.”

She smoothed the hair from his face, kissed his forehead. “Who? What did you want them to hear, Phillip?”

“Too late, now.”

“Drink some wine. When you are calm, you can tell me everything. I will listen. I promise you we will do what needs to be done.”

At last he took the wineskin, lifted it to his mouth.

While he drank, Kate asked Lady Kirkby how she came to be there.

“My men alerted me to all the lights and the shouting in the minster yard. After that, I could not go back to sleep. I found Richard here, with this poor boy – your ward, he said. Such a sad meeting. I saw my own sons in him. If I can help in any way, I pray you, come to me.” Margery rose. “Here, this is your place.” She went over to stand by Dean Richard and Jennet, who were talking to the workers.

“Do you mind if I look at Connor?” Kate asked Phillip.

He shook his head.

She lifted the jacket covering Connor’s head, steeling herself for a face like the one she had encountered in the guesthouse bedchamber days before. But Connor had not been dead so long, nor had the noose remained round his neck. His features were not so distorted as the stranger’s. She bent closer – a split lip, dried blood from that and his nose, which looked broken. Curious, she lifted his head, felt behind, and came away with blood. A fresh wound, as the dean had said. A badly injured man climbed onto a platform on trestles and managed to hang himself from those high beams? Of course not. With such wounds, was this a third murder? Stranger, Alice, Connor. Victim, witness, and the witness’s confidant? Kate closed her eyes, fighting down fresh rage. Pointless at the moment, when William was not here to receive it. When she had composed herself, Kate covered Connor’s head once more and returned to Phillip. Was he now on the murderer’s list, another witness?

“What did you see, Phillip? Did he struggle with his attacker before the hanging?”

Phillip looked her in the eye as he wiped his mouth. “You see it? That he did not kill himself?” His expression broke her heart, the grief, the hope, the gratitude.

“Yes. What did you witness, Phillip?”

“By the time I found him, he was hanging. Will they believe me?”

“My uncle is a reasonable man. I will ask him to examine Connor’s wounds. I believe he will agree to bury Connor in sacred ground.”

Phillip handed her the wineskin.

A sip emptied it. Good. She hoped it had numbed his grief. She held out her hand. “Lille and Ghent are down below, in the yard. Shall we go down to them? Perhaps we could walk them to the deanery where we might all warm ourselves and break our fasts. What do you think? Jennet can go home to fetch a change of clothes for you and let Marie and Berend know you are safe. They have been praying for you.”

Phillip wiped his nose on his sleeve. “No one prayed for Connor.”

“You did,” Kate reminded him. “And you stayed with him in his grief. You did all that you could, Phillip. You eased his pain, I am certain. It is no small thing to have a friend such as you near.”

Phillip bowed his head and said nothing.

“Should we send for Marie?” Kate asked him.

“No. Keep her from all this.”

Dean Richard grunted as he crouched down to speak to Phillip. “Connor’s body will be cleaned and prepared for burial by my own trusted servants. You can rest at the deanery and I will bring you to him later, when you are ready to sit the vigil.”

Phillip nodded. “Thank you, Dean Richard.”

For a second time in as many days Kate’s heart warmed to her uncle’s regard for the strong bond of family.

Though it was a short walk across the yard and beyond the stonemasons’ hut, by the time they reached the deanery Phillip’s knees were buckling beneath him. Alf called for a serving man to set up a cot in the warm kitchen, screened off so that Phillip might rest undisturbed. The boy fell asleep before Kate tucked a second blanket round him. She kissed his forehead and left him in peace.

She, her uncle, and Lady Kirkby retired to the dean’s parlor where a brazier warmed them. A servant brought mulled wine. They were a quiet trio, absorbing the events of the early hours – the horrible death, the boy’s grief.