Nobility Chapter 27
Captain Hector stood at the meeting room door, his stern features showing his impatience. Daniel, standing beside Rebekah’s chair, adjusted his sword belt, then paused, leaving the extra length of leather flopping about his knees, and reached with stuttering hands toward the chairback. Noticing his movement, the girl stood and smoothed her skirts as Daniel pulled the chair back, clearing his throat and casting his gaze about the room for anything on which it may alight without deepening his embarrassment.
At last he finished cinching his belt and moved forward under Hector’s unamused stare, Rebekah at his left arm and just half a step behind. Without addressing either of them, the captain turned on his heel and left the room, expecting to be followed. He led the young pair across the great hall and to a passageway on the other side of the dais, then to a dark stairway leading downward into darkness. A chill drafted up from below, and Rebekah grabbed Daniel’s arm.
“I need a light,” Hector declared. “Wait here.” The captain paced past the stairs, farther down the hallway, leaving the pair alone for a moment. “Why are you so afraid?” Daniel asked in murmured tones, surprised at the bold performer’s sudden lack of pluck even as her sudden touch warmed him.
“Until yesterday I’d never been so close to a dead person,” she answered, her voice slightly quivering. “The moment was all a rush, but the memories now are horrible. I thought these people were my friends. I don’t want to see one dead of poison. What if it’s ghastly?”
The sword’s song swelled with inspiring strings, and Daniel bent his left arm over his chest, drawing Rebekah closer, and put his right hand over hers. Before he could reply, Hector returned with a bit of kindling from a kitchen fire, or so Daniel supposed. His stony glare fell on the Daniel and Rebekah, their entwined posture. He made no reaction, but Daniel, seized by sudden apprehension, moved his right hand away from Rebekah’s and loosened the tension in his left arm. Rebekah, however, did not respond to this cue, rather clinging to him all the tighter. Finally Hector set his light to the wick of a candle on a narrow table at the head of the stairs. “Follow me,” he ordered.
The captain descended the dark stairs into the cellars, his progress careful as he set each foot on the uneven stone steps. Daniel followed behind, cautious to find each tread in the shadowed light of Hector’s candle before committing his weight, as Rebekah’s unrelenting grip on his arm meant any tumble was sure to strike them both. After making two turnings, the stairs finally emptied into a long hall, the floor of hardpacked earth. Candles hung in sconces at intervals all down the passageway, allowing Hector to extinguish his own light and set it on a small stand by the stairs. By the quality of light and smoke from these tall tapers, Daniel knew they were of beeswax, not tallow, and once again he was struck by the wealth of Lord Aidan’s demesne.
Two of the captain’s subordinates stood armed in the hallway, and these saluted as Hector passed. He led the commoners to the one door that stood unbarred and open, and Rebekah’s pace slowed as they came close. Hector came to rest on the other side of the door and pointed inside. “Go ahead,” he ordered. Rebekah’s steps stopped altogether still a few feet short of the threshold.
Daniel surveyed the captain’s expression. Hector had been fastidious in his duty throughout their brief association, even brusque, but Daniel hadn’t noted him to be intentionally unkind. A heavy weight of concern lay on the man’s features, and he shifted his weight restlessly. “Captain,” he began, “might I go in first?”
“Why?” Hector demanded.
The illiterate miller’s son cleared his throat as he worked to choose his words. “I believe your men have already observed the state of the…corpse, as it is. It may be more helpful for Rebekah’s identification if the face appeared more as it did in life.”
Hector sighed has he regarded the girl’s wide eyes and sickened expression. “Very well,” he allowed, but be quick.
Daniel nodded, his own unease suddenly surging, but with a determined theme of low brass from the sword, he strode forward into the cellar room, Rebekah finally loosing his arm. He set his jaw as he forced his focus to the body lying on the floor, its limbs a-jumble. At last he turned his gaze to the face: the tongue, swollen and purple protruded between the bruised lips, and streams of blood ran down the cheeks from red-stained eyes. The sight was grim, but no worse than he’d seen yesterday, and at least he wasn’t responsible for this man’s death. With a sense of detachment he knelt over the body, turning it properly onto its back and straightening the arms and legs. Based on their skewed positions, the man must have been gripped by terrible spasms in death, but now the joints were flexible.
The hideous tongue refused to cooperate at first, but with a determined shove Daniel forced it back in the throat, finally managing to make the jaw close most of the way. This procedure struck him with sudden disgust, but he pushed his mind through it. At last he found a cloth on the shelves covering the room’s perimeter and, moistening it with saliva, managed to clean the rivulets of dried blood from the face, then he closed the bruised eyelids. He stood and prepared to call Rebekah in, then turned back and knelt once more, folding the hands over the breast in what he hoped was a serene posture. It was better than the man deserved, he thought, but less than Rebekah did.
“Alright,” he finally called. “You can come in.” He looked to the open doorway, dimly lit by the candlelight, as Rebekah appeared in the portal, her face apprehensive as she finally observed the face of the dead man and prepared to make identification.