be of much importance whether he
could or no. Certainly he drowned. It is less certain, I fear, that he simply
fell into the water. See here—the back of his head…”
He raised the dead man’s head with one hand, and
propped head and shoulders with the right arm, and Brother Edmund, who had
already viewed this corpse with him before even Abbot Radulfus and Prior Robert
were summoned, held a candle to show the nape and the thick circlet of wiry
black hair. A broken wound, with edges of skin grazed loose round it and a
bleached, moist middle now only faintly discoloured with blood after its
soaking in the pool, began just at the rim of the tonsure, and scraped down
raggedly through the circle of hair, to end where the inward curve of the nape
began.
“He suffered a blow on the head here, before ever he
entered the water,” said Cadfael.
“Struck from behind him,” said the abbot, with
fastidious disdain, and peered closer. “You are sure he drowned? This blow
could not have killed him? For what you are saying is that this was no
accident, but a deliberate assault. Or could he have come by this innocently?
Is it possible? The track there is rutted, and it was icy. Could he have fallen
and injured himself thus?”
“I doubt it. If a man’s feet go from under him he may
sit down heavily, even sprawl back on his shoulders, but he seldom goes
full-length so violently as to hit his head forcibly on the ground and break
his crown. That could not happen on such rough ground, only on smooth sheet
ice. And mark, this is not on the round of his head, which would have taken
such a shock, but lower, even moving into the curve of his neck, and lacerated,
as if he was struck with something rough and jagged. And you saw the shoes he
was wearing, felted beneath the sole. I think he went safer from a fall, last
night, than most men.”
“Certainly, then, a blow,” said Radulfus. “Could it
have killed?”
“No, impossible! His skull is not broken. Not enough
to kill, nor even to do him much lasting harm. But he might well have been
stunned for a while, or so dazed that he was helpless when he fell into the
water. Fell,” said Cadfael with deliberation, but ruefully, “or was pushed in.”
“And of those two,” said the abbot with cold
composure, “which is the more likely?”
“In darkness,” said Cadfael, “any man may step too
near a sloping edge and misjudge his footing where a bank overhangs water. But
whatever his reason for going along that path, why should he persist beyond the
last dwelling? But this broken head I do not believe he got by any natural
fall, and he got it before he went into the water. Some other hand, some other
person, was there with him, and party to this death.”
“There is nothing in the wound, no fragment to show
what manner of weapon it was that struck him?” ventured Brother Edmund, who had
worked with Brother Cadfael in similar cases, and found good reason to require
his judgement even in the minutest details. But he did not sound hopeful.
“How could there be?” said Cadfael simply. “He was
lain in the water all through the night, everything about him is bleached and
sodden. If there had ever been soil or grass in his grazes, it would have
soaked away long ago. But I do not think there was. He cannot alone have
staggered far after that blow was struck, and he was just past the tail-race,
or it would have drifted him the opposing way. Nor would anyone have carried or
dragged him far if he was stunned, he being a big, heavy man, and the blow
being only briefly disabling, not killing. Not ten paces from where we found him,
I judge, he went into the pool. And close by that same stretch he got this
blow. On top of all, there he was on grass unrutted by wheels, being past the
mill-only rough and tufted, as winter turf is. If he had slipped and fallen,
the ground there might have half-stunned him, but it would not have broken his
could or no. Certainly he drowned. It is less certain, I fear, that he simply
fell into the water. See here—the back of his head…”
He raised the dead man’s head with one hand, and
propped head and shoulders with the right arm, and Brother Edmund, who had
already viewed this corpse with him before even Abbot Radulfus and Prior Robert
were summoned, held a candle to show the nape and the thick circlet of wiry
black hair. A broken wound, with edges of skin grazed loose round it and a
bleached, moist middle now only faintly discoloured with blood after its
soaking in the pool, began just at the rim of the tonsure, and scraped down
raggedly through the circle of hair, to end where the inward curve of the nape
began.
“He suffered a blow on the head here, before ever he
entered the water,” said Cadfael.
“Struck from behind him,” said the abbot, with
fastidious disdain, and peered closer. “You are sure he drowned? This blow
could not have killed him? For what you are saying is that this was no
accident, but a deliberate assault. Or could he have come by this innocently?
Is it possible? The track there is rutted, and it was icy. Could he have fallen
and injured himself thus?”
“I doubt it. If a man’s feet go from under him he may
sit down heavily, even sprawl back on his shoulders, but he seldom goes
full-length so violently as to hit his head forcibly on the ground and break
his crown. That could not happen on such rough ground, only on smooth sheet
ice. And mark, this is not on the round of his head, which would have taken
such a shock, but lower, even moving into the curve of his neck, and lacerated,
as if he was struck with something rough and jagged. And you saw the shoes he
was wearing, felted beneath the sole. I think he went safer from a fall, last
night, than most men.”
“Certainly, then, a blow,” said Radulfus. “Could it
have killed?”
“No, impossible! His skull is not broken. Not enough
to kill, nor even to do him much lasting harm. But he might well have been
stunned for a while, or so dazed that he was helpless when he fell into the
water. Fell,” said Cadfael with deliberation, but ruefully, “or was pushed in.”
“And of those two,” said the abbot with cold
composure, “which is the more likely?”
“In darkness,” said Cadfael, “any man may step too
near a sloping edge and misjudge his footing where a bank overhangs water. But
whatever his reason for going along that path, why should he persist beyond the
last dwelling? But this broken head I do not believe he got by any natural
fall, and he got it before he went into the water. Some other hand, some other
person, was there with him, and party to this death.”
“There is nothing in the wound, no fragment to show
what manner of weapon it was that struck him?” ventured Brother Edmund, who had
worked with Brother Cadfael in similar cases, and found good reason to require
his judgement even in the minutest details. But he did not sound hopeful.
“How could there be?” said Cadfael simply. “He was
lain in the water all through the night, everything about him is bleached and
sodden. If there had ever been soil or grass in his grazes, it would have
soaked away long ago. But I do not think there was. He cannot alone have
staggered far after that blow was struck, and he was just past the tail-race,
or it would have drifted him the opposing way. Nor would anyone have carried or
dragged him far if he was stunned, he being a big, heavy man, and the blow
being only briefly disabling, not killing. Not ten paces from where we found him,
I judge, he went into the pool. And close by that same stretch he got this
blow. On top of all, there he was on grass unrutted by wheels, being past the
mill-only rough and tufted, as winter turf is. If he had slipped and fallen,
the ground there might have half-stunned him, but it would not have broken his
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