31 - City of Fiends

by Michael Jecks

  The first dull gleams of daylight did not reach into this hovel, but the bellows of the stablemen and the clattering of buckets of drink for the horses was enough to waken a dead man. He was sitting up as his neighbours awoke, his bundle in his hands, staring ahead grimly. Only when they were all rising did he climb to his feet.

  He decided to do without food, and instead made his way along the roadway towards the East Gate, and there he joined the crush of folks preparing to leave the city.

  It was there that he heard of the second murder, and he almost fell to his knees in horror.

  This was no time for him to leave.

  He must go back.

  Precentor’s House

  There was little that the Precentor could tell them when they finally arrived before him.

  Adam was furious with himself. That damned fox-whelp Father Laurence! How could he reward Adam’s kindness in this manner! When he was found, Adam would ensure that he had the worst of all possible punishments for this treachery. And now he had to explain and apologise to the good Keeper.

  It was utterly intolerable!

  ‘My dear Sir Baldwin, it is with the very greatest embarrassment that I greet you today.’

  ‘Precentor, do not trouble yourself,’ Baldwin said firmly. ‘I only wish to ease your difficulties in any way I might. Can you tell me when he disappeared?’

  ‘Last evening. He was at Vespers and Compline of our Lady in the Lady Chapel, because I have checked with the Punctator concerned.’

  Baldwin nodded. Punctators were stationed to mark off all those who attended services to ensure that canons and clergy did not slacken in their duties.

  ‘After that, nobody appears to have seen him. He should have returned to the house of the Dean, where he lived, but he did not arrive there. The Dean’s steward assumed that he must have remained in the church to pray, but when he grew concerned at the lateness of the hour, he sent a novice to seek him. That novice had no luck in his hunt, and apparently Laurence did not sleep in his bed. He has disappeared.’

  Baldwin saw the cleric behind Adam make a hasty sign of the cross, his face alarmed.

  ‘He will have tried to leave the city, I expect,’ Baldwin said resignedly. After this latest set-back, it seemed to him unlikely that he would ever make his way homewards. ‘Have you asked the gatekeepers yet?’

  ‘No. Of course,’ Adam said, flustered. ‘Luke, go and enquire of all the keepers, and ask whether they remember him leaving the Close.’

  ‘If I may make a suggestion,’ Sir Richard said in an unusually low voice, ‘it may be quicker to send a boy to each of the city gates to ask if they saw a lanky great vicar. Where did he come from, Precentor? Where was his home?’

  ‘He was from Marsh, over near Axminster.’

  Sir Richard looked at Baldwin. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘He’d be mad to return home. It’s the first place anyone would look for him,’ Baldwin grunted.

  ‘I think so, too. So he’ll have gone to Topsham to the coast, that’d be quick; or he’ll have gone down to Cornwall,’ Sir Richard concluded.

  Adam felt his mouth fall open. ‘You think so?’

  Baldwin smiled sadly. ‘No, I do not. If he were to run, he would have taken the North Gate to head up to Somerset, I would imagine. The last thing on his mind would be to head further into the Bishop’s See. He will wish to escape the Bishop’s demesnes.’

  Adam felt a cold clutching at his breast when he saw the grim expression on Baldwin’s face. ‘Why do you say “if”?’

  ‘I fear that he may still be in the city. I only pray that he has not already been discovered,’ Baldwin said.

  Church of the Holy Trinity

  Father Paul had slept badly.

  The shocks of the previous day had been enough to weaken his mind, and every so often in his dreams a mare would bring a scene of horror: poor Juliana; the hessian-faced attacker in the cloak; the anguish of his almost broken foot; the punches, the kicks, and then, the appalling realisation as he saw Henry drop his cloak to the floor so carelessly that it seemed almost as if he knew the priest must recognise it and did not care. Henry Paffard was a member of the Freedom of the City, and a piffling priest was of such little significance in comparison, that a gesture like this clearly declared that Father Paul could go hang so far as Henry was concerned.

  The mild-mannered priest raged at the conceit that could permit Henry Paffard to threaten him with exposure as a whoring hypocrite, and also to kill two women – for surely the murderer of the one was the murderer of the other!

  His anger was so acute it nearly choked him as he sat beside his bedroll. His foot was enormously painful still, and throbbed sorely as though in response to his fury. In a growing city like Exeter, there were always one or two who were prepared to bully others in order to get their own way. All cities had the same mix of law-abiding, responsible citizens and irresponsible fools, but to commit a pair of murders, and flaunt it before a man who knew, assuming that he would not dare to denounce him, was an insult to Father Paul’s robes. He could not allow Paffard to kill again. He would not allow it!

  Gritting his teeth, he began to rise full of determination – but then there was a sudden knock at his door, and he stopped and stared at it with alarm. Before he could cry out, it opened and a tall man entered, shoving the door shut behind him. Under the hood his face was hidden, but the cloak was some dull, greyish colour.

  ‘You don’t scare me!’ Father Paul declared, trying to hide his fear. ‘I know what you’ve done, Master Henry.’

  ‘Master Henry?’ the man said with a dry chuckle.

  Cathedral Close

  There was no sign of Father Laurence, Baldwin was told. The South Gate had been closed correctly with the curfew, and there were two other men with the keeper there to confirm that there had been no cleric of Laurence’s description seeking to leave the city in the hours before night. Both East and West Gates denied seeing him, and the only possible remaining exit, the North Gate, had been a problem because the porter had been unwell. A stomach-fever had overwhelmed him the previous day, and he had been forced to spend much of the evening and night near the privy. His son had shared the duty with a neighbour, but neither was reliable as a witness. Father Laurence could have left the city by that gate, and no one would have known.

  A small group of freemen had gathered together in Carfoix before the sun had risen higher than the first quarter of the morning, and they were sent off to search for the vicar, with strict instructions to harm him no more than was needful to persuade him to return with them to the city.

  Meanwhile, Sir Richard, Simon and Baldwin spent their morning speaking with men who had known the vicar, trying to learn more about the man.

  If ever there had been a decent, reliable vicar, clearly he was Father Laurence. If it were not for one miserable old man who stated repeatedly that there had always been something about Father Luke he hadn’t trusted, there would have been uniform praise for him.

  It was a surprise to Simon. He had been taught at the school at Crediton, and the priests who educated him had been fine, intelligent men, but even amongst them, if a colleague had been discovered guilty of some offence, the others would tend to turn upon him. It was almost as though they felt the need of that release, to remind themselves that they were all ordinary men. And their comments upon another’s behaviour could be vitriolic.

  But this Laurence had inspired only affection. It made the idea of his being a murderer more than a little difficult to swallow.

  ‘We are getting nowhere,’ Simon said, after they had finished with the staff of the Dean’s house and walked out to the Close. ‘Should we not go and see the Sheriff and demand that a posse be sent to find this Laurence?’

  ‘I would be reluctant to do so,’ Baldwin said. He had been walking with his head to the ground, but now he looked up and around him with a face full of fierce concentration. ‘He would be likely to try to send me to find the man, and I have a fee
ling that it would be unproductive.’

  Sir Richard stopped and gazed at Baldwin. ‘You think him innocent?’

  ‘I am sure I do not know. But I begin to believe that in order to learn more about these dead women, we should be seeking a connection that is closer to them both. I could believe a mad killer trying to rape a woman as pretty and young as Alice; I can also imagine a man wanting to rape Juliana – but not then disfiguring her.’

  ‘Perhaps this Laurence has become moon-struck?’ Simon ventured. ‘If driven lunatic, perhaps he . . .’

  ‘That is what I cannot match in my mind. You weren’t there when I questioned Father Laurence, but I tell you this, Simon, I saw no sign of madness. He was a calm, pleasant man. In every way he appeared a paragon of priestly virtue. If I had to guess, I would think him innocent.’

  ‘Then where does that leave us?’

  ‘Both these women were locals. They had lived and died within a few tens of yards of each other.’ Baldwin began to walk again, this time towards the Bear Gate, and thence to Southgate Street. He continued as he marched, ‘The more I think of them, Simon, the more it seems obvious that something must have connected the two, some motive for their deaths. One learned something – did the other learn it too? Or did she guess at it?’

  ‘What of Laurence?’

  ‘Others have gone to search for him,’ Baldwin shrugged. ‘They do not need us to assist them.’

  ‘I shall take the message to the Sheriff,’ Sir Richard said. ‘If he wishes me to hunt down this priest, I can do so as well as you, Sir Baldwin. But I shall endeavour to ensure that Father Laurence isn’t harmed, and indeed I will see to it that he comes back safely so we may question him further.’

  ‘That is good,’ Baldwin said, and grasped his arm. ‘Be wary of the Sheriff, good Sir Richard. He is a devious, dishonest man.’

  ‘What of it?’ Sir Richard chuckled. ‘I have the easier task, if you are correct and the murderer is actually here in the city still.’

  Holy Trinity Church

  Father Paul almost fainted when the hood was removed and he found himself staring up into the bemused face of Father Laurence.

  ‘Me?’ he asked again. ‘Master Henry?’

  ‘Forgive me, my friend,’ Father Paul said, and fumbled for his stool. ‘I must sit. My legs. Ach, my toes!’

  ‘Father, you have no need to ask me for forgiveness, it is I who should ask that of you,’ Father Laurence said, helping the older man to his seat. ‘Let me fetch you a little wine.’

  ‘No, not for me. I am fine. It was just the surprise. I had thought you were someone else.’

  ‘Yes, a Master Henry. Who was that? Not Paffard, was it?’

  ‘Yes. He is the devil himself, Father. He killed the maid Alice, and now he’s killed the widow Marsille. Why he should do so, I cannot comprehend.’

  Father Laurence’s frown betrayed his doubts. ‘Why should he do so?’

  ‘He had been sleeping with his maid. Perhaps she was growing greedy? Whatever the reason, he must have killed her, and then Madame Marsille too. I think she saw him on the night he killed Alice and tried to blackmail him, or perhaps just confronted him to win a cheaper rent. Whatever the reason, he came here and threatened me, and beat me until I promised not to expose him.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘Yes. He swore he would expose me as a womaniser. Me!’

  ‘But that is madness,’ Father Laurence said wonderingly. ‘The man must be insane if he thinks he can get away with such acts.’

  ‘He is rich,’ Father Paul said scornfully. ‘It is how men of his kind reason – that for every misdemeanour there is a price they can pay that will cover their sins. Everything, they believe, comes down to money in the end.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I shall go to him and speak out if he will not confess. The inquest for Madame Marsille is today, and I shall ensure that no innocent can be convicted.’

  ‘You are absolutely certain that the man was the murderer?’

  Father Paul eyed him steadily. ‘Who else could it have been?’

  Laurence pulled a face. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What made you run away, Laurence? Was it the same reason that made you go to the alley on the night Alice was killed?’

  Laurence looked about him at the little room. It contained nothing – and everything. Possessions were few. There was the table, a stool, a palliasse, a chest for the priest’s clothes, and a shelf on which his two bowls and a loaf of hard bread stood. So little, and yet everything for which Laurence had hankered most of his life.

  Until that day he had fallen in love.

  ‘My friend, please do not censure me,’ he begged quietly. ‘I have been a great fool. I have fallen in love.’

  ‘To love is human,’ Father Paul sighed.

  ‘Not this love,’ Laurence said grimly. ‘This is the sinful kind.’

  Alley off Combe Street

  When Baldwin and Simon arrived, the Coroner was already making his summary for his clerk.

  The gathering at Juliana’s body was a sombre little group. The clerk sat once more, scratching his notes while the Coroner stood, looking decidedly queasy. His face made Simon feel less foolish for his behaviour last evening.

  All those whom he had come to know in the last few days were there already. The Paffard household were clustered in a group, including Claricia, who stood apart from her husband, throwing him anxious glances every so often. Behind her was her bottler and the apprentice, Benjamin, and then the de Coyntes family, with Bydaud standing with his arm about Emma. The Avices were farther away, and six or seven men and boys stood between them and the two Marsilles.

  On William’s face was a look of uncompromising determination as he stared over his mother’s body towards Henry Paffard. If no one else had been in his way, Simon was sure that he would have launched a fresh attack.

  Simon wondered what sort of man Henry Paffard really was. He looked as though he was feeling the strain, with the lines standing out on his ashen features. His eyes had become sunken, and Simon was struck with the impression of a ghost.

  Perhaps there was a ghost about here, he thought. The ghost of someone who had been betrayed, and who now sought revenge?

  It was enough to make his heart feel as if it was encased in ice.

  Rougemont Castle

  The news that Sir Richard de Welles had arrived and would like a few words with him did not please Sir James de Cockington. ‘Where is Sir Baldwin? It was him I expected to see.’

  Sir Richard was standing in the doorway, while Sir James remained seated. It was a calculated insult; and one that Sir Richard had no intention of allowing. He crossed the floor to the cupboard and, gently pushing the steward aside, poured himself a large goblet of wine before he responded, hitching his hip onto the cupboard’s top.

  ‘You have several problems, Sir Sheriff. The Bishop is dead, you have two murder victims in your city, and you have news that the King’s father, Sir Edward of Caernarfon, has escaped from Berkeley Castle. Also, a priest has run from the Cathedral. I can aid you with one of these. I will raise a posse to hunt down this Father Laurence and bring him back. The other matters are your affair.’

  ‘You try to tell me what you will and will not do?’ Sir James stood. ‘You will do as I command. I am the Sheriff of the city!’

  ‘And I am Coroner in Lifton,’ Sir Richard said, and drained his goblet before setting it down and idly walking towards the Sheriff.

  Sheriff James was alarmed by the sight of the older warrior approaching, but dared not jump from his chair because that would display fear. ‘You should make yourself available to me!’

  Sir Richard stood over him, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he purred, ‘Sheriff, are you going to threaten me?’

  ‘I could have you arrested if you try to injure me! I am the King’s man!’

  ‘So am I, Sheriff. So am I. And we have enough to trouble us already without falling out. Do you see to E
xeter, and I will go to learn what I may about this fellow, Laurence. I’ve met him, so I will know him when I see him. And Sheriff,’ he added, ‘when you are older, you will realise that to gain a man’s respect, first you should respect him.’

  Alley off Combe Street

  ‘What do you think, Simon?’ Baldwin muttered as the Coroner withdrew from Juliana’s body.

  Simon swallowed hard. ‘I think I need to get away from here.’

  Baldwin flashed a grin. ‘What of the man there – see?’

  He was indicating Gregory Paffard, and Simon turned to the boy in relief; it was good to be able to look away from Juliana’s poor, ravaged features. The sight of the lipless face was deeply unnerving.

  The fellow at whom Baldwin directed his attention looked as distressed as Simon felt. As Gregory looked up, Simon’s gaze reached him, and their eyes locked for an instant.

  ‘Baldwin, you’re right;’ Simon muttered. ‘That fellow is more distressed than Juliana’s sons. What on earth is going on?’

  But Baldwin did not hear him – and when Simon saw Gregory turn and make his way out of the alley, he knew that he must follow him. Baldwin was busy listening to the Coroner while he spoke with a man who held the pig-boy tightly by the arm, so Simon pushed past those before him, and made off after Gregory.

  The fellow led him away from the city and down to the wall itself.

  ‘What do you want with me?’ Gregory turned and demanded as Simon came out from the shadows of the alleyway and into the sunny patch of common land.

  ‘That depends on what you can tell me,’ Simon said.

  Gregory was even more anxious and fretful at close quarters, Simon could see. All the while, his fingers played nervously with each other, while his face twitched and his eyes blinked with what was clearly a nervous reaction. Simon had seen youths before with that same kind of response – when they were worried, or when they felt guilty about something they didn’t want to confess.

  ‘I’ve nothing to tell you,’ the youth mumbled.

  ‘Where were you when Juliana was killed?’

  ‘In our hall. With my mother and sister. And Father Paul from Holy Trinity.’ This time, he spoke with more confidence, and the blinking slowed. Simon was sure that this was true.