'Singleton's killer may have thrown his bloody clothes in there too. Go on, it can't be more than two or three feet deep. You'll live.'
For a moment I thought he would refuse, but he set his lips and bent to remove his coat, his overshoes and finally his boots. Those expensive leather shoes would be no better for a soaking. He stood a moment shivering on the bank, his solid bare legs and feet nearly as white as the snow. Then he took a deep breath and waded in, shouting aloud at the shock of the cold water.
I had expected it to reach his thighs, but he had taken no more than a couple of steps before, with a cry, he sank to his chest. Great bubbles of stinking gas belched up around him, smelling so vile I took an involuntary step back. He stood there gasping as the foul air dissipated.
'There's a foot of mud — ugh—' he gasped.
'Yes,' I said. 'Of course. The silt from the stream will fall to the bottom. Can you see anything? Can you reach?'
He gave me a withering look, then with a groan he bent down, his arm disappearing under the water. He scrabbled about. 'Yes — something — it's sharp—' his arm reappeared. He was holding a great sword, its handle gilded with gold. My heart leaped as he threw it on the bank.
'Well done!' I breathed. 'Now — again — is there anything more?'
He bent again, his whole shoulder disappearing under the surface and sending slow ripples towards the icy rim.
'Jesu, it's cold. Wait — yes — there is something — it's soft — cloth I think.'
'The killer's clothes!' I breathed.
He rose, pulling, and then overbalanced with a shout, falling right under the surface as another figure shot up out of the water. I gaped at the sight of a human form, dressed in a sodden robe. Its upper body seemed to hang in the air a moment, hair swirling round its head, then it splashed down into the reeds.
Mark's head rose again. He howled with shock and fear, flapping for the shore. Hauling himself onto the bank, he collapsed onto the snow, his yells turning to gasps and his eyes bulging, as mine were, at the sight of the figure in the reeds. A woman's body, grey and rotten and draped in the rags of a servant's dress. The eye sockets were empty; a lipless mouth was drawn back over grey clenched teeth. Rats-tails of hair dripped onto its face.
Mark got shakily to his feet. He crossed himself, over and over, praying. 'Deus salve nos, deus salve nos, mater Christi salve nos…'
'It's all right,' I said gently, all my anger gone. 'It's all right.' I put a hand on his shoulder; he was shaking like a leaf. 'She must have been lying under the silt. Gases built up and you disturbed them. You're safe, the poor creature can do us no harm.' But my own voice broke as I looked at the terrible thing lying there.
'Come, you'll catch an ague. Put on your boots.' He did so, the action seeming to calm him a little.
I saw that something else had risen to the surface and lay floating there; a large black piece of cloth, bloated with gas. I reached over with my staff, dreading a second body, but it was only an empty monk's habit. I hauled it in and set it on the bank. I could see dark patches that could have been the marks of congealed blood. I suddenly remembered the fat carp we had eaten on our first night and shuddered.
Mark was still staring at the body in horror. 'Who is it?' he stuttered.
I took a deep breath. 'My guess is those are the remains of Orphan Stonegarden.' I looked at the dreadful head, grey skin stretched over a skull. '"A sweet gentle face," Goodwife Stumpe said. "One of the prettiest I have ever seen." So this is what Simon Whelplay meant about warning a woman of danger. He knew.'
'So now we have three deaths.'
'I pray God it's the last.' I forced myself to pick up the monk's robe. I turned it over and paused at the sight of a little harp sewn into the fabric. I had seen it before; it was the sacrist's badge of office. My mouth fell open with amazement.
'It's Brother Gabriel's,' I gasped.