A Holy Vengeance Read Online Free Page B

anything else you witnessed that may be of importance.”
    Feeling herself under a vigilant scrutiny from those seemingly innocuous pale blue eyes, and the shadow of doubt that had appeared when she had told how the ravens had saved her, Constance nervously related why Emma had wanted to go to the sanctuary and how it came about that she had accompanied her.
    “Emma had been married two years and not yet become enceinte,” Constance explained, “and because both her father and husband are armourers, she thought that if she prayed to their patron saint he might help her conceive a child.”
    Tears came unbidden to her eyes as she recalled how optimistic her friend had been, but she stifled them as she continued, “Emma and I were friends, and as she had no female relatives and wanted a woman to be with her, she asked me if I would go. Emma lives—lived—with her husband in quarters at her father’s house, next to the armoury, which is just outside the lower end of town on the Witham River, and a far distance to walk to the shrine. To save time, she stayed in my house last night and we left at first light to go to the dell.”
    Constance paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Looking straight at Nicolaa, and hoping she would not be disbelieved, she took a deep breath before she went on. “We had just reached the shrine, and Emma had knelt to pray, when a man burst from the trees and plunged that knife into her back. I turned to run, but he seized my arm and I believe he would have killed me too if it hadn’t been for the ravens. Just as he was raising the knife to stab me they flew at him, pecking at his head and face. He dropped the weapon and ran, and they chased him into the woods.”
    “Did you recognise him?” Nicolaa asked.
    Constance shook her head. “He had a hood on his head that was pulled down low, and some sort of wrapping over his chin so I could not see any part of his face except his eyes. They were a dark brown in colour and full of anger.” She shivered in remembrance of the terrifying moment.
    “And his build—was he tall or short, thin or well fleshed?”
    After a moment’s thought, Constance said, “He must have been only of middling height, lady, for he did not tower over me when he grabbed my arm, so was most likely only a handspan taller than myself. As to his girth—it was hard to tell under the cloak, but I would judge he was slender.”
    “Could you see anything of the clothes he was wearing? And if there was anything distinctive about them?”
    Again Constance shook her head. “The mantle he wore was of brown homespun, but the swathe of it covered the whole of his body down to the knees, so it was impossible to see any of his other garments.”
    After a moment’s concentration she added, “I have a hazy recollection, as he ran away, that his legs beneath the cloak were encased in dark hose, and his boots low-slung. But that is only an impression, lady; I was so frightened that my memory could be playing me false.”
    Nicolaa leaned back in her chair and looked over at her clerk. While Constance had been speaking he had been writing down her words on a piece of parchment. “Do you have all of that, Gianni?” she asked. At his confirming nod, she turned back to Constance.
    “Do you know of anyone who has quarrelled with your friend, or has reason to bear her enmity?”
    Constance paused for the space of a heartbeat, recalling her own argument with Emma. But it had no bearing on the murder and she did not mention it. “Not that I am aware of, lady,” she replied, inferring that her pause had been due to reflection on the question. “Emma was a kind soul, friendly to all who knew her. I cannot imagine her doing any harm so great as to make someone want to kill her.”
    But the castellan’s instincts were sharp. Had the perfumer’s hesitation been due to honest consideration of her answer, or had she used the time to craft a lie? She stared at Constance for a short space