Blood on the Old Mill Road

Before the knight’s tent, battle drums mutter beyond the camp. Inside, a wounded man-at-arms crouches beside a royal messenger’s corpse, one hand pressed to his torn side.

He thrusts a bloodstained packet toward Roland. Wax has broken across its seal, and a dark smear marks the folded parchment.

Boots pound outside. Canvas shudders as armed soldiers gather around the tent, their voices sharp beneath the snapping royal colors.

The wounded man-at-arms looks from the entrance to Roland, pale beneath the grime. Outside, hands close around spear shafts as the tent flap lifts.

Roland studies the man-at-arms at close range. The tears in his side are ragged, and bruising darkens his ribs beneath the torn padding, but no blade remains lodged there.

His attempt to explain becomes a frightened confession. He clutches his side, and the packet slips from his grasp, landing beside the corpse with a soft slap of parchment.

The tent flap jerks wider. Four soldiers level their spears through the opening, while the wounded man-at-arms stares at Roland, suddenly understanding that his answer has made escape harder.

The four soldiers are not a full search party, but their formation tightens in the narrow tent. The nearest spear hooks the fallen packet away from the wounded man-at-arms’s reach.

A young adult man in a rain-darkened surcoat pushes through behind them, narrow-faced beneath a steel cap. A red plume marks him as their officer, and his eyes fix on the broken wax.

The officer steps over the corpse and lifts the dispatch without opening it further. Outside, the soldiers’ comrades begin closing the camp lane, turning a tent arrest into a public charge.

At close range, the wounds do not match a spear. Their narrow entries lie too close together, and the bruising beneath the ribs suggests a short blade struck twice from the front.

The wounded man-at-arms tries to straighten, but the effort drains what color remains in his face. Fresh blood seeps through the torn padding, and his knees buckle beside the corpse.

The soldier with the hooked spear, a young adult man with a stocky build, weathered face, close-cropped black hair, and a battered steel cap over a brown leather jerkin advances to seize the wounded man-at-arms, while another reaches for Roland’s weapon. The officer keeps the dispatch raised, its broken seal now evidence of a deeper betrayal.

Roland eases the rapier from its scabbard with deliberate control, keeping the point clear of every nearby body. The wounded man-at-arms watches from beside the corpse, breathing shallowly.

He turns the hilt outward and offers the weapon to the soldier with the hooked spear. The soldier accepts it, wrapping one hand around the guard and keeping his spear angled aside.

The red-plumed officer lowers the dispatch only after the blade is safely beyond Roland’s reach. His gaze shifts to the wounded man-at-arms, whose knees tremble beneath him.

The hooked-spear soldier searches the man-at-arms beneath the officer’s watch. He finds only a belt knife, its short, blunt-edged blade suited to cord and camp chores, not the narrow wounds in the messenger’s chest.

He holds the knife by its cord-wrapped handle, keeping it away from the corpse. The blade is too short and broad to account for the paired entries beneath the messenger’s ribs.

The red-plumed officer studies the little knife, then the messenger’s torn clothing. His expression hardens, but the accusation against the wounded man loses its simplest proof.

Roland watches the soldiers instead of the knife. The two at the entrance, both young adult men with average builds, light skin, short brown hair, and dark red surcoats over brown trousers keep their spears trained inward, while the third glances repeatedly toward the officer’s dispatch.

The wounded man-at-arms shifts against the canvas, exposing the paired punctures beneath his ribs. Their edges are clean, narrow, and angled slightly upward, unlike the ragged tearing a spear would leave.

The soldier with the hooked spear notices Roland’s scrutiny and searches the tent with a guarded glance. His eyes pause on the corpse, then on the officer’s sealed packet.

The soldiers obey, but their formation loosens for the search. One steps toward the rear canvas, leaving a narrow gap beside the entrance while the officer guards the dispatch.

The soldier at the rear canvas lifts a hanging fold and finds only rain-darkened earth beyond it. His gaze drops to the tent stakes, then returns too quickly to the dispatch.

Roland’s scan finds a shallow disturbance beneath the corpse’s shoulder, partly hidden by the fallen packet. A narrow glint shows between trampled straw and canvas shadow.

The hooked-spear soldier crouches without touching the glint. It is a slim, blood-darkened blade, concealed beneath the messenger’s coat and angled toward the tent wall.

The spearhead raises the coat. The blade is narrow enough to match both wounds, while a faint smear marks the inner canvas where someone may have knelt.

Roland studies the exposed blade, then the paired wounds beneath the messenger’s ribs. Its narrow, blood-darkened point and clean edges match the punctures precisely, while the smear on the canvas marks the killer’s crouched position.

The hooked-spear soldier keeps the weapon pinned beneath his spear point. The red-plumed officer leans closer, his expression sharpening as the evidence settles the question.

The officer raises one hand, halting the soldiers’ search. The blade remains beneath the spear, and every eye in the tent turns toward the broken dispatch and the corpse beside it.

Have the officer release the man-at-arms