The Winter King Read Online Free PDF

the huge belly, the genitals appeared small and shrunken. Thick, purplish veins ran down the insides of both legs, tangling into knots in the calves and at the ankles. After a while, and with considerable effort, the two canons turned the dead man on to his front. The two vast buttocks shuddered as the body settled in its new position, and the sudden pressure on the corpse’s belly made it emit a loud and prolonged fart. The flesh of the back – white and unpleasantly greasy – was dotted with several pimples, one of which the man must have been scratching at before death, for it was crowned with a large bead of dried blood.
    For some time, Sabin and her two companions stood looking down at the corpse. Then, as if some signal had been given, the canons took hold of the body once more and returned it on to its back. Then they replaced the garments, finally drawing up the dark-red velvet and pulling it right up over the face.
    Sabin, well used to dead bodies, was nevertheless very grateful to be spared the further sight of the narrow, glittering eyes.
    Canon Mark turned to where the steward stood in his corner. ‘We have finished,’ he said quietly.
    The steward moved forward, swiftly and silently. It was as if, Sabin thought, he was gliding across the flagged stone floor. ‘What is your conclusion?’ the steward demanded.
    Canon Mark looked enquiringly at Sabin. ‘Mistress Gifford? Would you care to speak first?’
    Sabin’s heart was thumping again. She drew a breath to steady herself, then said, ‘This man was too heavy, and I conclude from his colour that his heart troubled him. I suspect that, during times of excitement, stress or sudden activity, he would become breathless, and his heart would have fluttered in his chest. Its beat would be irregular, and I imagine he probably felt some pain.’ She hesitated, deliberately calmed herself, then concluded firmly, ‘It is my opinion that a particularly severe spasm could well have caused his death.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Mark said. ‘Stephen?’ Turning to the steward, he said, ‘I ought to have told you before, Canon Stephen is our infirmarian. I apologize.’ He gave a little bob of a bow. The steward nodded impatiently.
    ‘It is my conclusion also that Lord Benedict died from a spasm of the heart,’ Stephen said. There was a pause, and then he went on: ‘Perhaps I should not mention this, although, under the circumstances, I cannot see the harm.’ Turning to the steward, he said, ‘Lord Benedict came to consult me recently concerning a personal matter, and I suggested he should try to reduce his considerable weight by eating less and exercising more. I believe I made it clear to him that his general health, and in particular that of his heart, would improve if he followed my advice.’
    The steward nodded again. Sabin was watching him closely, but his face gave nothing away, and she could not tell if Lord Benedict’s visit to Canon Stephen’s infirmary was news to him or not.
    ‘Thank you, Stephen,’ Mark said. ‘I am not a medical man,’ he added, addressing the steward, ‘and I bow to the wisdom and experience of my two colleagues. I believe that the late Lord Benedict’s widow and his kin, your good self and the household may accept what Mistress Gifford and Canon Stephen have said. Lord Benedict was at a feast when he died, I understand?’
    ‘He was. The feast of All Saints’ Eve,’ the steward replied.
    Canon Mark spread his hands and raised his eyebrows, as if to say,
Well, then!
‘It was a hearty meal, I dare say? You have already told us that he ate and drank well.’
    The steward gave a grunt of assent.
    There seemed nothing more to say. Hoping that it would prompt her companions to follow, Sabin began to edge away towards the steps leading up out of the cellar. At first it seemed that all was well, for they followed her and soon all of them were mounting the stair. They went on down the passage, up the further flight of steps, and were