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The Anger of God

The Anger of God

Titel: The Anger of God Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Paul C. Doherty
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guests watched, astounded. No one moved as Fitzroy staggered against his table, turned slightly and crashed to the floor.
    Despite his laden stomach, Cranston sprang to his feet, Athelstan behind him, and hurried across. Fitzroy lay sprawled on his side, eyes and mouth still open, but Athelstan could feel no life beat in the puce-coloured throat. He stuck his finger into the man’s mouth, ensuring the tongue was free, thinking Fitzroy might have choked. He hid his distaste, working his fingers downwards, but found no blockage in the man’s throat. Cranston felt Fitzroy’s wrist and then his heart.
    ‘He’s gone!’ he growled. ‘Dead as one of his bloody fish, God rest him!’
    The others hurried across in a hubbub of shouts and exclamations, the young King included. Despite his tender years, Richard shouldered his way forward, is the fellow dead, Sir John?’
    ‘God rest him, yes, Sire.’
    ‘And the cause?’
    Athelstan shrugged. ‘I am no physician, Your Grace. Apoplexy, perhaps?’
    ‘Nephew, you should not be here.’ Gaunt edged his way forward and clapped a beringed hand on young Richard’s shoulder.
    ‘We will stay, Uncle, until the cause of death is established. You, man.’ The King nodded at one of the royal archers guarding the door. ‘You will go for Master de Troyes!’
    Gaunt bit back his anger and, nodding at the archer, confirmed his nephew’s order. Meanwhile Athelstan stared down at the corpse.
    ‘This is no apoplexy, Sir John,’ he whispered. ‘I believe Fitzroy’s death is not a natural one.’
    The rest protested noisily but Sir John, crouching beside Athelstan, lifted a finger to his lips as a signal for silence.
    Athelstan leaned down and sniffed at the man’s mouth. He smelt wine, roast meat and the bitter-sweet smell of something else, like that of a decaying rose with the wormwood strong within it.
    ‘Did Fitzroy complain of any illness before the meal?’ Sir John suddenly asked.
    Bremmer, Sudbury , Marshall , Denny and Goodman, all clustered together, shook their heads.
    ‘He was in the best of health,’ Denny squeaked.
    ‘Any family?’ Sir John asked, still crouched beside the corpse.
    ‘A wife and two married sons. But they are absent from the city.’
    Cranston nodded. Like Lady Maude, many of the wives of leading city officials and merchants left the city during the warm summer for cool manor houses in the country. Athelstan glanced up and carefully watched these clever, subtle men. In his judgement, one of them was a poisoner. He got to his feet and, stepping over the body, sat down at Fitzroy’s table. The silver plate still bore portions of meat and other remnants from the banquet. Two cups of wine stood there, each about one-third full with either red or white wine. Athelstan picked up the gold-edged napkin, studied this carefully, sniffing at it, then the cups and the food. The hall grew silent and he looked up to find the rest studying him curiously.
    ‘What is the matter, Brother?’ Gaunt’s voice was full of suspicion.
    ‘I believe,’ Athelstan declared, ignoring Cranston ’s warning look, ‘that Master Fitzroy did not die of a seizure but was poisoned.’
    ‘Murdered?’ Goodman snapped.
    ‘Impossible!’ Marshall snorted. ‘What are you implying, Brother?’
    ‘My clerk is implying nothing!’ Cranston retorted, getting to his feet.
    Athelstan carefully laid the napkin over the table, covering the plate and cups.
    ‘If my secretarius,’ Cranston continued defiantly, ‘says a man is poisoned, then he’s been poisoned.’
    ‘Now, now, what is this?’ the young King intervened, if Sir Thomas were murdered here, his assassin would still be in the room.’
    Athelstan got up and walked across to a servitor who stood holding a jug of rose water and a bowl, with a small towel over his wrist. Athelstan smiled at the fellow, extended his fingers and carefully washed away the sugary-sweet substance from Fitzroy’s mouth. He dried his hands carefully on the towel and walked back to the group.
    ‘I believe Master Fitzroy was murdered,’ he declared. ‘I have seen seizures before, but not like this one. Death was too sudden and I detect a strange smell on his lips.’
    The powerful Guildmasters stared at Athelstan: they believed him now and their arrogant looks were tinged by fear and suspicion.
    ‘Who sat on either side of him?’ Cranston asked the unspoken question.
    ‘I did,’ Goodman declared. ‘I sat to his right.’
    ‘And I to

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