Ensuing Evil And Others Fourteen Historical Mysteries Stories

Chapter One Night's Black Agents Good things of day begin to droop and drowse Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse ---Macbeth, Act III, Scene ii. "It is plainly murder, my lord," the elderly steward announced unnecessarily. What else could a stab wound in the back mean but murder? It would hardly be self-inflicted. The fact that Malcolm, the son of Bodhe, prince of the House of Moray, lay stretched on the floor of his bedchamber with the blood still seeping across his white linen nightshirt did not need a fertile imagination to conjure an explanation of what had befallen the young man. The corpse lay facedown on the wooden floorboards, clad in nothing else but the shirt, which meant that he had just left his bed to greet his killer. A bloodstained knife had fallen nearby, apparently dropped by the assassin in his haste to be gone. MacBeth, son of Findlay, the Mr-mhaor or petty king of Moray, which was one of the seven great provincial kingdoms of Alba, answering to no man except the High King, whose capital was south in Sgin, stared down with a grim face. Indeed, this was his castle, and the dead man was his wife's brother. He stood with a cloak wrapped around his shoulders to protect him from the night chill. It had been but only a few minutes ago when he had been roused from his sleep by his anxious steward and requested to come quickly to the bedchamber of Malcolm. It certainly needed no servant or seer or prophet to tell MacBeth that someone had entered this chamber and brutally struck down the young prince and then discarded the weapon. "Is the castle gate still secured?" he demanded, his voice raised as if in irritation and glancing into the corridor, where a warrior of his personal bodyguard stood impassively. "Aye, noble lord," replied his steward, an elderly man named Garban. "As custom decrees, the gate was secured at nightfall and will not be opened before dawn. Your warriors still stand sentinel at the gate and walk the ramparts." "So the culprit may yet be within these walls?" "Unless he has wings to fly or be a mole that can burrow under the walls," agreed the old servant. MacBeth nodded in grim satisfaction. "Let it continue to be so, for we many yet snare this evildoer. Now where is Prince Malcolm's servant? Why is he not here?" "He was injured, noble lord. He now is being attended to, for in truth, he received a blow to the head, which caused it to bleed. He it was who discovered the body of his master." "Then send for him straightaway, Garban. And send for my brehon to oversee these matters, according to the law. There is little time to delay in our pursuit of this assassin." While a king or even a chief could be a judge and arbitrator in the law courts, it was, by law, known that a professional and qualified lawyer, a brehon, had to sit with the king to ensure the letter of the law was obeyed and a fair judgment delivered. The old steward was turning toward the door when there was a cry at the portal, and MacBeth turned to see his newly wed wife, the Lady Gruoch, standing there, a hand to her mouth. Garban, the steward, jerked his head to her in nervous obeisance before he hurried forward to carry out MacBeth's instructions. MacBeth turned to his wife. He had thought her still sleeping when he had left the bedchamber to follow Garban. "Madam, I am afraid your brother is dead," he greeted her quietly, not knowing what else to say but the blunt truth. Lady Gruoch had seen much violence in her five and twenty years. It had been only oTremayne, Peter is the author of 'Ensuing Evil And Others Fourteen Historical Mysteries Stories', published 2005 under ISBN 9780312342289 and ISBN 0312342284.