Brother Cadfael 03: Monk's Hood

Rhys's great-nephew.
    "Good! Lift his head on your hand, Edmund, and hold his brow steady." It was easy enough to trickle the emetic mixture of mustard into the half-open mouth, but the stiff throat laboured frightfully at swallowing, and much of the liquid ran out again into his beard and the bowl. Brother Edmund's hands quivered, supporting the tormented head. Meurig held the bowl, himself shivering. The following sickness convulsed the big body, weakened the feeble pulse yet further, and produced only a painfully inadequate result. It was indeed late for Gervase Bonel. Cadfael gave up, and let the paroxysms subside, for fear of killing him out of hand.
    "Give me the milk and eggs." This he fed very slowly into the open mouth, letting it slide of itself down the stiff throat, in such small quantities that it could not threaten the patient with choking. Too late to prevent whatever the poison had done to the flesh of Bonel's gullet, it might still be possible to lay a soothing film over the damaged parts, and ease their condition. He spooned patient drop after drop, and dead silence hung all round him, the watchers hardly breathing.
    The big body seemed to have shrunk and subsided into the bed, the pulse fluttered ever more feebly, the stare of the eyes filmed over. He lay collapsed. The muscles of his throat no longer made any effort at swallowing, but stood corded and rigid. The end came abruptly, with no more turmoil than the cessation of breathing and pulse.
    Brother Cadfael laid the spoon in the little bowl of milk, and sat back on his heels, He looked up at the circle of shocked, bewildered faces, and for the first time saw them all clearly: Meurig, the bowl with its horrid contents shaking in his hands, Aelfric grim-eyed and pale, hovering at Brother Edmund's shoulder and staring at the bed, the girl - Brother Mark had not exaggerated, she was very pretty, with her yellow hair and black eyes - standing frozen, too shocked for tears, both small fists pressed hard against her mouth; and the widow, Mistress Bonel, who had once been Richildis Vaughan, gazing with marble face and slowly gathering tears at what remained of her husband.
    "We can do no more for him," said Brother Cadfael. "He's gone."
    They all stirred briefly, as though a sudden wind had shaken them. The widow's tears spilled over and ran down her motionless face, as though she were still too bemused to understand what caused them. Brother Edmund touched her arm, and said gently: "You will need helpers. I am very sorry, so are we all. You shall be relieved of such duties as we can lift from you. He shall lie in our chapel until all can be arranged. I will order it ..."
    "No," said Cadfael, clambering stiffly to his feet, "that can't be done yet, Edmund. This is no ordinary death. He is dead of poison, taken with the food he has recently eaten. It's a matter for the sheriff, and we must disturb nothing here and remove nothing until his officers have examined all."
    After a blank silence Aelfric spoke up hoarsely: "But how can that be? It can't be so! We have all eaten the same, every one of us here. If there was anything amiss with the food, it would have struck at us all."
    "That is truth!" said the widow shakily, and sobbed aloud.
    "All but the little dish," the maid pointed out, in a small, frightened but determined voice, and flushed at having drawn attention to herself, but went on firmly: "The one the prior sent to him."
    "But that was part of the prior's own dinner," said Aelfric, aghast. "Brother Petrus told me he had orders to take a portion from it and send it to my master with his compliments, to tempt his appetite."
    Brother Edmund shot a terrified look at Brother Cadfael, and saw his own appalling thought reflected back to him. Hastily he said: "I'll go to the prior. Pray heaven no harm has come to him! I'll send also to the sheriff, or, please God! Prior Robert shall do as much on his own account. Brother, do you stay here until I return, and see that nothing is touched."
    "That," said Cadfael grimly, "I will certainly do."
    As soon as the agitated slapping of Brother Edmund's sandals had dwindled along the road, Cadfael shooed his stunned companions into the outer room, away from the horrid air of the bedchamber, tainted with the foul odours of sickness, sweat and death. Yes, and of something else, faint but persistent even against that powerful combination of odours; something he felt he could place, if he could give it a moment's