The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19)

by Michael Jecks

  The cathedral was chill in the morning air, and she stood near the aisle, watching the other folk there.

  It was an interesting cross-section of the men and women of Exeter. Of course many would go to their local church rather than making the journey to the cathedral. There were twenty-odd parish churches in the city, after all. But among the more wealthy and those who wanted to demonstrate their piety to the world, or perhaps those who wanted to exhibit a new tunic, there were many who wished to be seen at the cathedral church.

  Jeanne, from past visits to the city, could recognize several people, and she nodded and smiled to a few familiar faces, while reflecting to herself that some of them appeared to have their minds on matters other than the mass.

  First among these was the man who entered with his wife as the bell stopped tolling. Jeanne was sure that she had met them before although she could not call their names to mind, so she smiled welcomingly, but as soon as she did so, and saw how Juliana’s eyes passed to her and through her, she realized that this was not a good morning for talking to them. They had clearly had an argument before leaving their home that morning, or perhaps on their way to the cathedral.

  Daniel walked over to the men’s side, and Juliana went to stand alone near one of the great columns, looking to neither one side nor the other, but staring straight before her at the altar. Jeanne was struck by her paleness and apparent nervousness.

  Before long, Jeanne saw another woman join her, and recognized Agnes, Juliana’s elder sister. The two said nothing, but Jeanne saw that they held hands, and then Juliana turned slightly towards Agnes and momentarily rested her head on her shoulder. In that moment Jeanne felt sure that Juliana was one of those sad creatures who was married to a man who beat her. Jeanne was suddenly convinced that Juliana’s husband was much like her own first man. It made her feel sad to see the woman standing there so courageously, her hand in her sister’s. At least Juliana had a sister; when Jeanne was herself suffering so dreadfully, she had no one to turn to. All her family had died many years before when a gang of thieves and robbers broke into her parents’ house and murdered them.

  When the mass was over, she joined Edgar and her husband out in the close. Baldwin smiled to see her, but then she saw his expression harden as he noticed someone behind her, and she sighed to see that it was Sir Peregrine. She wished that her husband could learn to tolerate the fellow. It was understandable that he should be wary of politicians, it was true, but Sir Peregrine was only attempting to do his job in the best way he might.

  At least today Sir Peregrine was not of a mind to discuss matters of high politics.

  ‘There are times when I wonder what sort of men we promote to keep the peace in a city like this,’ he growled as he approached. ‘Have you heard about our most senior sergeant?’

  Baldwin shook his head, but his manner was easier as soon as he heard that Sir Peregrine wished to discuss business. ‘What of him?’

  ‘The God-damned moron has killed a man. Just some drunk who had too much ale and waved a knife at him. There was no need to slaughter him for that, but no! Our sergeant went in with his staff flailing and killed him.’

  ‘Have you held an inquest?’

  ‘No. I was only made aware of the matter just now. I do not intend to hold an inquest on the Sabbath, so would you join me in the morning to hear the case? Not that it matters: we’ll have to find him innocent. We can’t have people thinking that a sergeant could be guilty of murder. The cretinous son of a diseased goat!’

  Baldwin nodded slowly. ‘If I find that he acted unreasonably, I’ll find him guilty.’

  ‘I would expect no less,’ Sir Peregrine said sharply. He sighed. ‘Perhaps it would be best if we went to speak to him now. If we hear his side of the tale, it may explain some aspects.’

  ‘True. If, as you say, the victim had drawn steel against him, that would be adequate justification for defence. Provided there were witnesses, of course.’

  ‘Witnesses can always be found. Damn his soul, he should have shown more caution,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘You can’t go upsetting the mob by killing someone when everyone thinks there was no need.’

  ‘Is there cause to fear the mob here?’ Jeanne asked.

  Sir Peregrine looked at her. ‘There is always need to fear the mob, lady.’

  Daniel felt as though every eye was upon him as he walked from the cathedral. Juliana wouldn’t look at him, not after their argument that morning, but he would have preferred that she took his hand. Instead she walked out with her sister, and the two of them trailed along behind him as he marched out.

  It made him feel guilty – especially when he saw how people stared at him. Many openly contemptuous, having heard how he served old Ham.

  He could not blame her, though. They had argued this morning. She had said again that he should leave Jordan alone. This constant fear was sapping her spirit, she said, and her panic was all too plain as she sat on their bed, cradling their children in her arms. After last night that was to be expected.

  Last night they had heard it again: a strange noise downstairs in the middle of the night. He had put it down to rats at first; God knew, there were enough of them in the house. Every time he went and looked in the buttery, there were fresh signs of shit. They made him feel sick, but there was little to do, other than try to trap them or catch them and stab them, and he didn’t have time to bother with that sort of rubbish.

  Yet there was something about the noise which wasn’t quite right. Juliana had heard it first, and she had waited a while, so she said, until she heard it again. A scratching noise, like a piece of metal rubbing against something. She lay in the dark, listening to it, and nudged him.

  It was the same. Daniel set his jaw and rose from the bed as quietly as possible. A pair of boards creaked, but he crossed the floor to the open doorway with a long-bladed knife in his hand and stared down into the darkness. Last time he had heard this, he had sat in his bed and waited until he was quite sure of the noise, but not this time. He’d heard it before, and he was certain he knew what it was.

  The fucking madman! If it was Jordan, he’d cut the bastard’s cods off and make him eat them! If that bastard thought he could get into Daniel’s house, he was wrong. Last time Daniel had given him warning by lighting his candle; well, he wouldn’t do that tonight. If the little shite was down there, he’d feel Daniel’s steel this time.

  He stepped slowly, cautiously, down the stairs. Behind him he could hear Juliana quietly leaving the bed, the rugs and heavy skin rustling as she slid out, and her feet padding almost silently across the boards. He took the first step, listening intently. There was no more noise, only the very faint hiss of his children’s breath, and Daniel slowly and carefully walked across the room to inspect the window. Again, the shutters were loose, and the wind soughed through the gap.

  Daniel stood with the flesh creeping on his back at the thought that a man might dare to come in here and threaten his children. It was terrifying. No man should have attempted to break into his home of all the houses in Exeter. That a man might enter his showed that the churl was entirely without fear. He must have the courage of a madman. Or be a madman.

  ‘Husband, do you think he might be in the garden? Will you see if he remains out there!’ his wife called.

  ‘Wife, I am unclothed. Do you think that it would serve any purpose to walk about in the dark with my ballocks dangling?’

  ‘Husband, if you valued your children and your wife, I should have thought you’d be keen to go and find the man,’ she hissed in return.

  ‘I am keen!’

  ‘Then go and find him and cut off his ballocks, man! Stop waving that knife at me and find him!’

  Daniel had glared at her, but there was sense in her instructions. He kicked at the bed where his children lay, turfing them out and sending them up the stairs to their mother, while he donned a cloak that had lain on a chest and, pulling on some light shoes, stepped out gingerly, walking about his garden
and yard.

  There was nothing. If he had been superstitious, he would have thought that a malevolent ghost had taken an irrational dislike to him and was tormenting him.

  But that idea was easily dispelled when he returned to the chamber and his light glinted on a splinter of steel. It looked like a fragment of a blade, snapped off as it twisted to open his shutter. Ghosts did not carry steel.

  Of course the problem with Jordan was, his insouciance was entirely justified. Christ’s pain, Reg knew that well enough. When he said that no one would care about losing two pardoners, he was speaking no more than the literal truth. Nobody would even notice. Reg had helped drag the bodies away, wiping at the rain that fell about his shoulders and ran down his face, aware that this was a matter that would change, that had changed, his life. No matter what happened, his life would never be the same, and now, hauling on the body of the oily little man, he felt sick. He was involved in the death of these men; he would help to conceal the murder. He was complicit.

  Reg was no coward, but he had not been a murderer before this evening. Thieving, yes, that was necessary, because it meant he could live. He needed food to continue. But that was different from taking a man’s life. However, to his shame, even his last reservations fell away when he saw what was in the pack. These pardoners were successful men. They had learned how to charm trinkets and valuables from their audiences, and when Jordan had killed them they’d been about to stop and rest, sell their goods and recuperate for a while after all their travelling.

  ‘Look at that! Came from a rich woman, that did. Good pearl. Should fetch a fair sum.’

  ‘Where can we get rid of this stuff? Look at it! If we’re found with all this, everyone will know we’re robbers,’ Reg said, appalled at the size of their haul. There were bracelets, necklaces, rings and plate, all worth a small fortune.

  ‘I know a man,’ Jordan said with confidence.

  And that was the problem. It sometimes seemed as though the mere exercise of his will lent force to his ambition. They had taken the jewellery and an acquaintance of Jordan’s had soon disposed of it for them – not for the sum it was worth, but for enough money to give them sufficient to live on for some months to come.

  Soon Jordan had decided that lying in wait to catch merchants and travellers was little use. There were better ways to make money. He had concealed his wealth carefully, hoarding it, and although that cretin Daniel had tried to catch them both, reckoning that they were involved in some unsavoury dealings, by the time he took notice of them Jordan was already well set up.

  Yes, Daniel was right about their activities – not that it would do him much good.

  Daniel was in his hall when the Coroner finally arrived, banging on the door with the hilt of his dagger.

  ‘Sergeant! Open this door!’

  Cecily saw his face darken again, and she withdrew into the corner with her brother. Arthur denied ever being afraid of their father, but both knew the truth: that when Daniel lost his temper he was capable of thrashing anyone, even his children, and both sought to avoid him when he was in a rage. Today he seemed in a worse mood than ever, and Cecily felt the terror grow in her breast as Daniel’s face grew blacker while he waited for his servant to arrive.

  ‘By St Peter’s bones!’ he bellowed. ‘Will no one answer the door?’

  A scurrying and pattering came from the yard, and then the servant girl rushed through to the door. She bowed and spoke bravely to the men outside, then brought them into the hall.

  ‘Master, the Coroner and his friend wish to speak to you.’

  ‘Get out, tart!’ Daniel grated. ‘About your business!’

  Sir Peregrine was impressive, tall, elegant, and striking-looking, and Cecily studied him as he languidly reached out with a questing pair of fingers and dipped them into the little stoup that was nailed beside the door. He made the sign of the cross, bent his head a moment, and then stared at Daniel, long and hard.

  He had the look of a man who was used to violence, although perhaps not in the way that some men would resort to weapons at the first opportunity. No, she thought that this was a man who took it for granted that his words carried weight and authority.

  ‘Well, sergeant? Have you any explanation as to why we should protect you from inevitable ruin?’

  ‘You mean old Ham? He shouldn’t have pulled a dagger,’ Daniel said flatly.

  ‘Does every man deserve death for possessing a dagger?’

  Cecily was unprepared for the second man’s appearance. He stepped inside with an armed servant, glancing about him quickly as though expecting an assassin to strike. She had heard her father say that this was the Keeper from Crediton, that he was a dangerous man to cross. Perhaps so, but he was attractive, too, even if he was terribly old. She rather liked the way that the beard which followed his jaw had grown so peppered with grey, and his eyes, when they found her, were kindly, crinkled at the corners. They looked like eyes which would smile all too easily. The only disquieting aspect of his appearance was the way in which he moved, looking about him sharply before stepping in, and then standing alert while his servant leaned back against the wall in a negligent manner, and appeared to study his fingernails.

  ‘He deserves the consequences if he pulls it against an officer of the King,’ Daniel said.

  ‘Quite true, unless the officer concerned is himself breaking the law,’ Baldwin observed.

  ‘I was there to stop a fight, that’s all. I acted as I should. I suppose I could have stopped him … but what can a man do when some fool tries to stab him? What would you have done?’

  ‘Cut off his arm,’ Sir Peregrine said coolly. ‘But not his head.’

  ‘He tried to stab me. There were witnesses.’

  Baldwin glanced at Cecily again, and she saw the coldness in his eyes. There was a piercing quality to them that she wasn’t sure she liked. Then she saw them narrow in a gentle smile again. ‘Any man who can give life to such a pretty child cannot be all bad.’ He turned from her again, and Cecily saw how the smile fled his face. ‘But a man who slaughters a drunkard unnecessarily has evil within him. I trust you will not seek to hurt any more men, sergeant, for next time we shall see you arrested.’

  ‘Aye. I am a sergeant. I can be condemned when I am attacked,’ Daniel said coldly. ‘Yet who will protect me?’

  ‘You seem admirably competent at defence,’ Sir Peregrine murmured.

  ‘What could cause you fear?’ Baldwin asked.

  Cecily said, ‘The man who comes at night.’

  Sir Peregrine glanced down at her as though surprised that a child should speak in his presence. Baldwin, though, grinned at her kindly, with an inviting nod. ‘Who do you mean? A friend of your father’s?’

  Cecily suddenly realized that she might have spoken too soon, and she looked to her father. To her surprise, he appeared less angry, almost relieved. He too nodded to her. ‘You tell them.’

  ‘There is a man who comes at night when everyone is asleep. He comes into our houses and looks at us all.’

  Sir Peregrine smiled broadly. ‘A ghost, then? You’ve been having mares, child.’

  Baldwin was about to chuckle when he caught sight of Daniel’s face. ‘Is this true, man?’

  ‘He breaks in every so often. Not every night, but now and again.’

  ‘Has he been seen?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.

  ‘I’ve seen him, so’s Cecily here. If you want more, speak to anyone round here. Several of us have caught him in our homes, Reginald Gylla for one. It’s not only me.’

  ‘Why does he break in?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Is he a common draw-latch, or is there some other reason?’

  Daniel looked over at his daughter, and this time there was no anger in his expression. She could see what looked oddly like a tear in the corner of his eye. ‘Come here, child.’ Putting his arm about her, he continued: ‘There is a story that he’s a man who lost his own family years ago in the famine: Estmund Webber. There are so many … he just covets t
he kids.’

  ‘He intends no harm, then?’ Peregrine said.

  ‘Not yet,’ Daniel said. ‘But a man who walks abroad at night and enters your house is enough of a cause for fear, isn’t he?’

  Baldwin’s eyes went from her father to Cecily’s own face as he agreed. ‘It is never good to learn that a man can break into your home with impunity. Not when you have children to protect. Tell me, though. Do you have no locks, no bars? How does he enter?’

  ‘I have bars on the shutters and doors, but there is one which is old and wooden. I’ll show you.’

  He rose, setting Cecily down on her feet, then led the way out through the rear door to the small chamber where his children slept. ‘Look!’ he said, and strode to the barred window at the back of the room. ‘He climbs in here.’

  ‘What of the shutter?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Do you not lock that if you fear an intruder?’

  ‘Certainly we do. The shutter used to be a simple dropping board, with a thong to latch it closed, but the man was opening it. He must have used a long knife to push up the bar.’

  ‘I saw it!’ Cecily squeaked. ‘A big long dagger, it was.’

  ‘Aye, well,’ Daniel confirmed. ‘So I had my men put up these new ones instead.’

  He demonstrated the newer hinged shutters, pulling them closed. They were built of strong wood and a large metal bracket was set in each. When the shutters were drawn closed, a beam of heavy wood, hinged at one end, could be turned up and over to drop through the brackets. A peg set into the wood completed the lock by stopping the beam from rising again once it had fallen to rest in the metal fixings. ‘This should deter any robbers, but it didn’t stop this fellow,’ he said.

  ‘How did he get in?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Look for yourself.’

  Baldwin went to the window, removed the peg and lifted the bar from the brackets. Pushing the shutters open, he sprang out lightly, then pushed the shutters closed once more. ‘Edgar, put the bar across again.’