Geoffrey felt sick. “How could I have been so wrong? And all the while, you were working things out so easily!”
“Hardly that, lad,” said Roger with a rueful smile. “It took some hard thinking, I can tell you, and I gave myself aching wits in the process!”
“I warned him,” said Geoffrey, remembering his conversation with Hugh earlier that day when he had been so exhausted. “I told him I was close to solving the murders, and that it was someone in the citadel. I meant him to beware of you, but instead I probably told him it was time to kill me!”
“I saw him!” exclaimed Roger suddenly, sitting back on his heels. “When you were asleep, I saw him outside your chamber. He told me he had lost a coin, and we looked about for it, although we both knew we would find none.”
Geoffrey regarded Roger soberly. “You are right, of course,” he said. “Marius’s body was still warm when we found it, yet Hugh said Marius had only just started to talk to him. And we were gone a long time. Marius’s story as told by Hugh had inconsistencies—he said Marius claimed to have seen from the door that Dunstan had been strangled, but the scriptorium was far too dark for him to have seen that far, even with a lamp.”
Roger nodded slowly. “Hugh was simply repeating Marius’s gabbled story that he gave when he arrived.”
“Which must mean that he and Hugh had said a great deal to each other before Marius was killed. And it explains why Hugh volunteered to stay with Marius in my chamber.”
“But you said it was that other monk—bald Brother Alain—who made Dunstan’s death look like murder instead of suicide,” said Roger. “So, what did Hugh and Marius talk about?”
Geoffrey thought, watching Roger play idly with one of the daggers. “When Alain thought he would make Dunstan’s suicide appear as murder in a feeble attempt to protect the popular Marius, his plan had exactly the reverse effect. Marius must have believed that Dunstan had been murdered because of what he knew of the deaths of Guido, John, and the monks—and Dunstan certainly knew more than he had written down for Tancred, because he was using the information to blackmail the killer. The reason Dunstan’s and Marius’s investigation met with so little success was that they knew the identity of the killer from the start—or perhaps had discovered it, and were persuaded to go along with his plan. So Marius fled the palace and came to the citadel in terror, because he thought Dunstan had been killed for this knowledge, and he imagined he might be next.”
“And Hugh talked to Marius to lull him into a false sense of security,” said Roger. “Then Hugh stabbed him because Marius running here—on the surface of it to you, but really to Hugh—was a liability. And Hugh is not a man to allow a panicky monk to upset his plans.”
Roger was right there too. There was a ruthless streak in Hugh that would have no compunction in dispatching a weak-willed monk in order to carry out his own business. While on desert duty, Geoffrey had once seen Hugh kill a small child to ensure it did not cry out and reveal their hiding place. They had later quarrelled bitterly about it.
Roger took a deep breath. “What a foul business! He was our friend. What do we do now?”
Geoffrey sat back on the bed and tried to think. Of all the knights at the citadel, Hugh was the very last one he would have imagined to be the killer. They had been friends for more than three years and had saved each other’s lives on so many occasions that Geoffrey could scarcely recall them all. And of Roger and Hugh, Geoffrey had far more in common with the literate, intelligent Hugh than with the ignorant, slow-witted Roger. He found his hands were shaking, and he felt weak and sick. Perhaps there was some other explanation for all this. Perhaps Courrances had taken the loot from Hugh’s chest and put the daggers there, much as someone—Courrances again, no doubt—had tried to have Roger found in bed with a dead prostitute.
“Come on, lad,” said Roger, standing up suddenly. “If your wits are failing you, mine are still working. It is obvious where we go next. Hugh thinks the scroll from Brother Salvatori is hidden in Akira’s house. He will be searching there for a while, because obviously we have it here. If we hurry, we might catch him in the act. And who knows, perhaps we can talk some sense into him.”
There was no point in using horses to reach Akira’s shop. The streets in that part of the city were too narrow, and it would only take a lumbering cart, or an uncooperative rider, to block their passage completely. Clad in half-armour—light chain-mail shirt and leather leggings—Geoffrey set off on foot, confident that he could make better time running than Hugh could make on horseback. Hugh, like most knights, never walked when he could ride.
Roger yanked at the bar on the gate, while Geoffrey fretted impatiently.
“Off somewhere nice?” came a silky enquiry at his shoulder. Geoffrey saw that Courrances was watching their movements carefully, his sharp, clever mind considering what they might mean.
“The most salubrious establishment in the city,” replied Geoffrey, breaking away from Courrances to run after Roger, “Akira’s meat emporium.” The black-robed Hospitaller thoughtfully watched him dash away.
People scattered as the knights ran through the narrow streets. Geoffrey heard an outraged howl and saw that Roger had rushed into a fruit barrel, and oranges were rolling in every direction; a few were crushed by Geoffrey running behind, but many more stolen by quick-fingered children. Roger, ahead of him, was unfaltering, and made his way purposefully toward the butchers’ alleys. Eventually, they skidded to a halt at the corner of the butchers’ street. There was no sign of Hugh’s horse, and the street looked deserted. Breathing heavily, they walked cautiously down the road and looked into Akira’s shop.
Inside, the floor was still dark with the stains of his trade, and the flies and maggots still feasted. Except that this time, Akira had joined the ranks of the victims and hung from one of the hooks in the ceiling, slowly rotating this way and that. Geoffrey started to lean back against the wall in defeat, but thought better of it when he saw the splattered blood. Roger surged past, his sword in his hand, and thundered up the stairs.
“Empty,” he said, returning a few moments later. “And now Hugh will know I tricked him. Nothing could be hidden up there. It is bare.”
Geoffrey walked over to the dangling corpse, and looked up at it.
“Help me, Roger!” he said urgently, sheathing his sword, and grabbing Akira’s legs. “He is still alive!”
Roger lowered the hook on its chain, while Geoffrey supported the greasy bundle that was Akira. The rope, Geoffrey realised, had been passed under Akira’s arms, not round his neck as Geoffrey had supposed, and Akira’s feet were swollen, so he must have been hanging there for quite some time. The butcher began to regain consciousness.
“Whoreson!” he muttered.
“Ingrate!” retorted Geoffrey.
Akira forced his bloodshot eyes open, and fixed them blearily on Geoffrey.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said in tones far from friendly. “What are you doing here?”
“We came to see if a friend of ours was visiting,” said Geoffrey. “But what about you? Will you live? Shall I send for a physician?”
Akira struggled into a sitting position and reached out a bloodstained hand to grab Geoffrey’s shoulder. Geoffrey winced at the powerful aroma of old garlic that wafted into his face.
“You must tell the Patriarch that they tried to murder poor Akira,” he moaned.
“I will indeed,” said Geoffrey, trying to extricate himself from Akira’s powerful grip. “I am sure he will be deeply shocked to hear of your accident.”
“Accident!” snorted Akira, shifting his hold on Geoffrey’s shoulder to one that was stronger yet. “They tried to kill me. Not even quickly like that poor monk, but slowly.”
“Who?” asked Geoffrey absently, racking his brain to think of places Hugh might go.
“Maria and her vile lover. Adam is his name.”
Geoffrey was puzzled. “It was not Sir Hugh of Monreale who did this to you?”
Akir
a snorted. “If you mean that skinny, fair-haired knight, he was here before you, but didn’t even pause to see if I was alive. And you,” he said, turning suddenly and fixing Roger with a baleful eye, “didn’t heed Akira’s pitiful calls when you came to arrest that treacherous whore.”
“I thought you had arrested her inside the house,” said Geoffrey to Roger.
Roger shook his great head. “Outside. She was about to enter, but I got her outside. I do not like the smell of this place very much. No offence,” he added to Akira.
Akira, using Geoffrey as a crutch, heaved himself up and lunged on unsteady legs to his stool near the window.
“Why did Maria do this to you?” Geoffrey asked.
“Oh, she hates old Akira,” said the butcher in a nasal whine. “She told me last night, when I was hanging there like a trussed goat, that she wanted me to be blamed for these vile murders. She wanted to pay me back.” He began to weep crocodile tears, and Geoffrey sensed the war of attrition between the wily old butcher and his scheming daughter had been waged over many years, and that no love was lost between them. Akira’s false tears now were probably aimed to make the knights feel sorry for him and leave him some money.
Akira continued his sorrowful tale. “But those priests were kind, and didn’t arrest old Akira when I found Brother Pius in my shop. Then yesterday, that Maria says she’s leaving the city with her lover. Adam.”
Geoffrey wondered whether it was Adam or Maria who had led the other to betray family and friends. Maria had tried to kill her father and had tried to implicate him and Melisende in the murders; meanwhile, Adam was a Greek spying on his own community under Melisende’s command. What a pair!
“She brung me cakes once,” said Akira, blubbering with self-pity, “but when I gives one to old Joseph, he dropped down dead. So, she’s tried to kill me before!”
“Old Joseph?” queried Geoffrey, hoping this was not another priest or knight.
“My cat!” wailed Akira, fresh tears welling down his cheeks. “I tried hard with Maria. But after all I did, she still finds me repulsive!”
Really? thought Geoffrey, unable to stop himself glancing at the sordid room and its shabby inhabitant, I wonder why? But if Maria had sent poisoned cakes to her father, she had probably also sent them to Dunstan. Melisende, it appeared, was blameless for that part of the mystery after all. And with sickening clarity, Geoffrey suddenly realized exactly how Maria had done it. Marius had smuggled whores into the scriptorium on Thursdays, and the one Alain loved was called Mary. It was probably Maria, and she had left the cakes for Dunstan at the same time. And sweet old Father Almaric, who had given Maria the scroll addressed to Brother Salvatori from the Advocate, was the same trusted associate of the Patriarch who had recommended Maria to Melisende!
“Is this making any sense to you, lad?” asked Roger, rubbing at his head tiredly. “Because I am flummoxed!”
“That does not surprise me in the slightest,” came the soft voice they knew so well from the doorway. Geoffrey whirled round, his sword already out of its scabbard, but Hugh had two archers with their bows at the ready at his side and Geoffrey faltered. Hugh saw his hesitation and nodded. “You are wise to be cautious, Geoffrey. I have come too far to be stopped now, and if you make the slightest move toward me, these men are under instruction to kill you.”
Geoffrey felt sick. So far, the notion of Hugh’s treachery had been a distant thing, something with which he had not yet had to come to terms. Now, Hugh was standing in front of him, threatening to kill him as easily as he had killed the Bedouin child in the desert.
“Hugh …” he began, taking a step forward. Immediately, both archers swung their bows round to face him, and Geoffrey saw their wrists begin to draw back. He stopped.
“Throw down your weapons,” ordered Hugh of Geoffrey and Roger. Geoffrey hesitated, but saw the resolute expression on Hugh’s face. He dropped his sword and then heard Roger’s clatter to the ground behind him. “Now your daggers. Both of them,” he added for Roger’s benefit. “And move back against that wall.”
Geoffrey and Roger backed away until they stood side by side against the far wall. Akira slouched with them, moaning softly, while Hugh’s archers were ranged opposite, their eyes never leaving Geoffrey and Roger. Hugh made a motion with his hand, and others clustered into the small room, one of which was the gentle Father Almaric, who smiled beneficently at Geoffrey. Another was Adam, who made a threatening gesture toward the cowering Akira.
“Please,” Akira whispered. “I got nothing to do with all this. I’m only a poor butcher. Let me go, and you won’t be sorry. I got some nice lean meat round the back, and I’ll keep you supplied for as long as you stay in our lovely city.”
Hugh looked around him and shuddered. “It is a tempting offer,” he said. “But I am afraid I must decline.”
“Did you kill them, Hugh?” asked Geoffrey softly. “Did you kill John, Guido, and the monks?”
“Not Loukas, the last one,” said Hugh. “That was none of my doing. But I was forced to kill Guido and John. I offered them a chance to join our select group to replace this vacillating Advocate who festers on the throne of Jerusalem with a strong king, but they declined. Since I had already given them details of our plan, they had to die.”
“Why them?” asked Geoffrey, a sick feeling spreading through him as he imagined the young, impressionable John at the mercy of such ruthless cunning as Hugh’s.
“You already know,” said Hugh. “I need strong and intelligent soldiers for my plan to work. Guido was grieving for his wife and was considering taking the cowl; I needed him because he was an excellent strategist. I killed him as he strolled in the gardens at the Dome of the Rock, which had become a habit of his. And John was intelligent and a man of integrity; he would have been an asset to our cause. I had Maria lure him to her mistress’s house, where I, not a welcoming lover, awaited him. But others listened and have joined with us—all good, strong men who want to see Jerusalem remain in Christian hands, not taken back by the Saracens just because the present Advocate cannot keep it.”
“And Jocelyn and Pius?”
“I had to kill Jocelyn because he helped Guido write a missive to the Advocate outlining our plans. Fortunately, Guido refrained from mentioning me by name and was stupid enough to sign with his monkish name. Had he signed himself Guido and not Salvatori, I might have been in serious trouble. Jocelyn was also a double agent for the Patriarch and was simply too dangerous to be allowed to live.”
“And Pius?”
Hugh shrugged. “Jocelyn was very careful during the two days after Guido’s death—he knew he was in danger. I followed him one night and killed him just as he reached the Dome of the Rock and thought he was safe. On the way, I saw him stop and talk to a monk. I could not take the risk that Jocelyn had told this monk our secret, so I killed him too. Maria opened the door of this place so I could leave the body here. You see, I had to create a smoke screen to prevent anyone seeing a pattern in the deaths. I used those cheap daggers from the market so that people might believe the killings were ritualistic, and I even managed to retrieve them on occasion to thicken the mystery. But the one I used on John was stolen from his corpse. You cannot trust anyone in this city.”
Geoffrey regarded him sombrely. “Poor Pius had trouble sleeping. I am sure Jocelyn told him nothing. Pius was probably only making idle chatter with a fellow monk out in the night.”
“I cannot help that,” said Hugh abruptly. “One cannot be too careful in these political games. But I am innocent of that Greek monk’s death. The word is that the Patriarch had him killed, although I cannot think why.”
“And Maria helped you hide the bodies?” asked Geoffrey.
“Maria, Adam, and Father Almaric, among others. It was Almaric who was able to warn me about Guido’s letter to the Advocate outlining our plans.”
Father Almaric stepped forward and, beaming benignly, sketched a benediction at Geoffrey and Roger. Geoffrey wondered if he wa
s in complete control of his wits. It was Almaric who had recommended Maria to the Patriarch as a maid to Melisende: a spy to watch over a spy.
“I know,” said Geoffrey. Hugh looked startled, and Geoffrey explained. “Jocelyn used Father Almaric as confessor, presumably because Almaric professed to be one of the Patriarch’s most loyal subjects, and Jocelyn assumed anything passed to Almaric would not only be under the seal of confession, but safe because Almaric was the Patriarch’s man. But when Celeste reminded Father Almaric that the monk with the distinctive eyes came to him for confession, Almaric pretended to have forgotten him.”
“But it is true, my son,” said Almaric, earnestly. “I forgot so much because of the incessant agony in my feet. But since I tried the remedy you recommended, I have been much better. I am able to walk, and the pain is so much improved that I am able to sleep much better at night, and so wake refreshed and sharp-witted in the mornings.”
Wonderful, thought Geoffrey. He had guilelessly acted as physician to a man who was attempting to murder the Advocate.
“The letter the Advocate wrote to Guido?” asked Geoffrey. “How did you come to have it, Father?”
Hugh sighed and closed his eyes. “Does it really matter?” he said, wearily. “Sir Armand of Laon—he is one of us—appropriated it when it was delivered to the citadel. He gave it to Almaric for safekeeping when you began your enquiries. I sent Maria to fetch it when I decided it was time to put our plan into action. Father Almaric has been a good ally, but he is forgetful, and I wanted the letter in my possession lest my plan, for some reason, failed.”
“And Dunstan? How did he find out all this?”
Hugh gave a hearty sigh. “Do you think I have nothing better to do than to satisfy your curiosity? Dunstan found notes made by Jocelyn in Jocelyn’s desk in the scriptorium. Dunstan was foolish enough to believe he could blackmail us. I simply arranged that Maria send him some of her cakes, but not before I had a quiet word about what happened to men who tried to blackmail me. I suppose I literally frightened him to death.”
01 - Murder in the Holy City Page 24