The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18)

by Michael Jecks

  ‘Udo has not paid for the saddle yet, that is all,’ Mabilla said calmly, while inwardly she felt her heart quail. Please God, she prayed, let it be nothing to do with him.

  No. In her heart of hearts, she had no doubt. Only one man could have killed Henry. It must have been William, because he wanted her back as his possession.

  Matthew was one of the first to hear the Master Mason’s cry. He followed Robert de Cantebrigge’s pointing finger to see the body swinging in the breeze.

  ‘Sweet Lord Jesus!’ he exclaimed.

  He and Stephen had just left the Treasurer’s house and were walking to the Exchequer for their morning’s review of the previous day’s accounts when they saw Robert de Cantebrigge looking agitated. The two had hurried to his side, their black gowns flapping.

  ‘Oh, dear heaven,’ Matthew said with a wince. ‘He is dead, is he?’

  ‘With his neck twisted like that? Yes, I rather think he might be,’ Stephen said caustically. ‘Master Mason, send for the Dean. God only knows what he’ll make of this, but we ought to give him fair warning, I suppose.’

  ‘This is terrible,’ Matthew said. Inside the leather cylinder gripped in his hand was the latest fabric roll, which detailed all the money paid and owed for the last couple of weeks’ work. ‘It’s the last thing we need … the poor fellow, of course, but really, we should be trying to complete the Cathedral, and we can’t wait for the Coroner to come and investigate another death!’

  Stephen glanced at him sympathetically. ‘I know how you feel, Matthew. I feel it myself. I adore this Cathedral, and would give much to see it completed so that I could revel in God’s glory here on earth, but …’ he drew a great sigh ‘… there is no possibility of that. We must simply do our duty as best we can, hoping that our successors appreciate our work.’

  ‘But this will only slow it down more!’ Matthew said tearfully. ‘And it must cause great friction, Treasurer. Look at the fellow’s garb. It is not the body of some saddler from the city this time.’

  Stephen peered back. ‘No? Oh, God. Is that who I think it is?’

  Matthew nodded sadly. ‘I am afraid so. It looks as though he was a friar.’

  Sara came to when it was already broad daylight. Her son Dan was gone, but in his place was old Jen, who sniffed as she prodded the lacklustre fire with a stick and muttered to herself about the lack of food and drink.

  ‘Where is Dan?’

  ‘Gone to see if he can find something to beg, I reckon,’ Jen said. ‘I’ve got some pottage from last night here. You’d better drink it. It may warm you a little.’

  Sara’s stomach revolted at the thought, but she was grateful for Jen’s help and hated to disappoint her. She allowed herself to be supported while Jen held a bowl to her lips. She took a sip. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. I’ve done little enough, maid. Dan came running round saying he thought you’d died. Little monster was quite out of his mind until I told him you were only sleeping.’

  ‘The man who came to bring food for me, he …’ Sara began, and then her throat seemed to close up, and no more words would come.

  ‘Dan told me all about it.’ Jen patted Sara’s shoulder, and rested her hand there in silent sympathy for a while. ‘It must be terrible to know that the man you thought was a saviour was the cause of your trials.’

  ‘He killed Saul! How could he come to my home and befriend me, knowing he was responsible for my situation?’

  ‘And he helped you at the Priory, too, didn’t he?’ Jen said.

  ‘Yes, he pulled me from all the bodies. He saved my life.’

  ‘So he paid a little for his crime. Still, I hadn’t heard that Saul was murdered. He was crushed, wasn’t he, when a stone slipped?’

  ‘I don’t care whether he intended to murder Saul or not. He was the one who let the rock fall. If only it was him who died and my Saul had lived,’ Sara said with a whimper. ‘I want my husband back, I want my son back. I don’t want to be widowed, I don’t want Saul to be gone! I loved him! And I don’t know anybody in this city, I ought to flee and go home!’

  ‘Right, maid. First, you aren’t fleeing anywhere. You can’t. You need food and rest. Second, you know me here, and that’s enough. Third – well, third, you know this mason too, and …’ She held a finger to Sara’s mouth and stared at her with a serious expression. ‘Think of this, maid: he owes you much. He owes you a living, because that’s what he took from you. He’s no killer, is he? He’s a good man, who was shocked to have an accident which crushed a man – your man – but accidents happen every week on building sites. If he hadn’t killed your man, maybe someone else would have done so soon enough. But for you, unprotected and hungry, you could do a lot worse than find a man who wants to assuage his guilt by serving the victim of his offence. That means you.’

  Sara looked at her, revolted. ‘What – you think I should welcome him here in Saul’s home?’

  ‘At least he’s the kind of man you could control,’ Jen said, folding her hands over her ample belly. ‘And a controllable husband is a delightful toy.’

  Simon and Baldwin were walking up the hill towards the middle of the city when there came a pattering of feet behind them and Baldwin reached for his sword in an instant, whirling to meet their pursuer head on. As soon as he recognised the figure, he let his hand fall from the hilt.

  ‘My dear maid, you shouldn’t run,’ he said calmly. ‘You are already quite disordered, and your humours upset enough without pelting up the street in this way.’

  ‘I had to speak to you!’

  Julia stopped and caught her breath. These men were strangers to her, and yet they were committed to catching the man responsible for her father’s death. She knew that they must be suspicious of her fiancé, but Udo can’t have had anything to do with Henry’s death. Why should he?

  ‘My mother can be a little confused. Especially since Father’s sad death,’ she said, and the mere utterance of those dread words made her shoulders rack with sobs once more.

  ‘I feel sure that she is as rational and sensible as a woman recently widowed could possibly be,’ Baldwin said.

  There was sympathy in his eyes, she felt sure, but there was also some cold intensity, as though he was prepared to think that even she could have killed her father. That was a scary idea, that someone could suspect her of such a foul deed.

  ‘Sir Knight, I didn’t hear what you discussed with my mother,’ she said, which was true. They had spoken quietly, and what with the wind whistling past her in the chamber, and the constant rustling of drapes and tapestries, she’d not been able to hear much of what they’d said. ‘But I want you to know what I think. My father’s business has not been so good recently, and a customer who bought a saddle was hurt. The wooden frame was defective. Because of that my father threatened the joiner concerned.’

  ‘He was Master Joel?’ Baldwin confirmed. ‘Yes, your mother told us of him. What else would you like to tell us?’

  ‘Nothing. That is all I know.’

  ‘Really?’ Baldwin said. ‘But I feel sure that there is more. Come, won’t you trust us?’

  ‘No, there is truly nothing else.’

  ‘Very well, then. We thank you for your aid in this,’ Baldwin said and waited until she had departed.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Simon asked when the girl was out of earshot and the two men had started on their way again.

  ‘The woman and daughter are both trying to protect someone,’ Baldwin said. ‘I do not doubt that both loved the husband and father, but the wife sought to throw our suspicion upon one of her husband’s friends, the daughter upon another of them.’

  ‘Which means that neither is certain, so little of their beliefs can be trusted.’

  ‘When can you trust the impressions of women like them?’ Baldwin asked. ‘They had a stable, secure life until their man was ripped from them. There has been little time for them to grow accustomed to their new situation.’

  ‘They
’ll get used to it soon enough,’ Simon commented. ‘It’s the way of things. Widows are so often ill-served by those who used to depend upon their husbands for their businesses and livelihoods. I wonder how the men of Exeter will look upon these two.’

  Baldwin made no comment. The sight of the two women’s misery had reminded him of his own wife. How would she feel, were he to die here, today? Perhaps she would remember their early days together, their mutual trust and delight, their love. But more likely, she would remember the more recent times, the sadness, the sense of loss when the man for whom she had prayed and waited had returned with a different temper. That was what Jeanne would remember.

  They had reached the top of Smythen Street, and now stood at the junction with Bolehille. Baldwin was about to wander on towards the joiner’s hall, when he noted that Simon was gazing down towards the great Southern Gate. ‘The German lives down there, I think.’

  It was a moment before Baldwin recalled who he meant. ‘Ah – the one with the star against his name?’

  ‘Yes. The widow was keen to say that he was only marked because he had not yet paid. Perhaps …’

  ‘What, Simon?’

  ‘I was merely wondering whether a man like him, a foreigner, might see it as an opportunity to avoid paying because the saddler is dead now. Some unscrupulous fellows are quite capable of doing that sort of thing. A widow can’t afford to throw good money after bad by hiring a lawyer.’

  ‘Where is this leading?’

  ‘Should we visit him now and see whether he intends to honour his debt?’ Simon said lightly.

  Baldwin glanced up towards Carfoix. ‘We should really carry on with our investigations. Perhaps later we can speak to him.’

  Simon acquiesced and the two trudged up Cook Row before turning right along the High Street.

  ‘Last time we were here was that Christmas with Jeanne and Meg, wasn’t it?’ Simon said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How is Jeanne?’

  Baldwin couldn’t meet Simon’s look. ‘She is well.’

  ‘Is there something the matter, Baldwin? Forgive me, but you don’t seem yourself.’

  ‘I …’ He was at a loss for words. Simon was his closest friend, but he did not feel up to discussing his innermost feelings about his wife – especially not in the street. ‘We can talk later. Let us concentrate on the matter at hand first.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Simon said, but he shot a look filled with curiosity at his companion.

  The house was easy to find, as Mabilla had indicated. Over the shop’s door was a great wooden board which hung from chains and upon which was carved the figure of a joiner at work, carefully painted and with gilt lettering proclaiming the man’s trade.

  Baldwin stood and studied the building while Simon banged on the door. Before long a man appeared, a thin, pinch-faced fellow with faded gingerish hair and the veins all broken about his lumpy nose. He did not look like someone who enjoyed great health. ‘Yes?’

  ‘We are here to see Master Joiner. Is he in his hall?’

  ‘He is busy. I’ll see if he can spare you a moment or two.’

  Baldwin pushed past the protesting man. ‘You will tell him that the Keeper of the King’s Peace is here to question him. Go!’

  The man scurried off, leaving the odour of sour wine behind him.

  ‘I think,’ Simon said, ‘you’ve upset the bottler in the middle of his morning nap.’

  ‘You may be right,’ Baldwin said without concern. ‘I feel terrible. Let’s go and apologise to him.’

  They went after the bottler into a large shop. There were many examples of the joiner’s trade here, from small cupboards and chairs to a large table. Simon could hear voices coming from behind a wide-open door at the far end of the room.

  ‘Tell them to go to the devil. I’m busy!’

  Baldwin exchanged a look with Simon, then they both followed the sound of the voices. They passed along a short passageway, and then came into a large hall, spacious and bright. Sitting at his table on the dais, they saw Joel with a drinking horn gripped in his fist, a jug of ale on the table before him.

  Simon’s attention was taken by their surroundings. The hall was very tall, with the inner face of the thatch showing thickly overhead, and some of the timbers were very old and coloured by the smoke which perpetually hung in among the rafters. Yet many of them had new pieces of wood mitred in among them. These had rich carvings upon them, grimacing gargoyles alongside smiling saints. There was a dog cocking a leg at an ox, a cat sitting with paw outstretched to catch a bird that was a short distance out of reach, and two knights sleeping. The total effect was of a series of jokes by a master carver.

  ‘You like it?’

  Baldwin had been watching the man at the table while Simon stared upwards. The man motioned the servant away dismissively, ‘You the Keeper?’ he demanded. ‘What’s all this about?’

  Simon wrenched his mind back to the matter at hand as Baldwin spoke.

  ‘Yes, I am a Keeper of the King’s Peace, and I am here because of the murder of your friend Henry Saddler.’

  ‘Oh, him. Yes, it was very sad. I shall miss him.’ Joel poured himself a top-up of ale. ‘Poor Henry. He was my oldest friend.’

  ‘Surprising how friends can fall out,’ Simon noted.

  ‘Who said I fell out with him?’

  ‘We have heard that you supplied him with a poorly made saddle frame.’

  ‘That means nothing. Sometimes things fail. One of my frames did, it’s true, but that’s no reason to fall out. Christ’s Finger, we’ve been comrades for forty years.’

  ‘So we have heard,’ Baldwin said. He walked closer to the table. ‘We would like to know all that you can tell us about the night the Chaunter died.’

  ‘What makes you think I can help with that? It was many long years ago,’ Joel said, and leaned back in his seat.

  As he did, Baldwin saw the livid bruise at the side of his jaw. ‘You have been attacked?’

  Joel grunted and winced at a fresh pain in his chest. He wondered if it came from a broken rib. If it still hurt this much in the morning, perhaps he should go and see a physician. That man de Malmesbury seemed to have a good reputation. Not that he wanted to waste good money in seeking a man who would tell him he had been bruised – something he knew only too well already.

  ‘It is nothing,’ he lied. ‘Now, how do you expect me to help you? All that took place back in the days when King Edward I was on the throne and I was a lad.’

  ‘You were among those who attacked the Chaunter.’

  ‘There were rumoured to be many involved,’ Joel said evasively.

  ‘You deny being a part of the gang which sought to assassinate the Chaunter?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Of course I do!’

  ‘Mabilla told us that you were a close companion of Henry when he was a lad.’

  ‘Hardly that. We grew up at the same time, and boys will often join forces when they have done so.’

  ‘True enough,’ Baldwin said. ‘What do you know of Henry’s other friend then – William?’

  Joel looked away. He glanced at his horn, and refilled it. ‘He’s a corrodian at Saint Nicholas’s Priory,’ he said flatly.

  ‘He was a companion of yours?’

  ‘He wouldn’t have many dealings with my sort, I fear. I was merely a skilled worker. He was a warrior!’ Joel spat. ‘After the assassination attempt, when the King came here to listen to the evidence, William told how the Southern Gate had been left open all night long so that the murderers could make good their escape. That was why the old Mayor was hanged, and the gatekeeper too. It brought William his fortune, though. For his evidence, the King rewarded him with a place in his household. I suppose the regard in which he was held is demonstrated by the fact that the present King has bought him a nice corrody at the Priory.’

  ‘Was he involved in the murder of the Chaunter too?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘We know that Hen
ry Saddler was there. He was a close companion of yours, as was this William. There was another, too, wasn’t there? Tom. Where is he?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Tom? Good God in heaven, there’s a name I haven’t heard for many a long year. Yes, he was a mate of ours, but again, he left the city soon after the King arrived, two years after the murder. I haven’t seen him since.’

  ‘You can tell us nothing then, about the attack on the Chaunter?’ Baldwin pressed.

  Joel had a clear picture in his mind’s eye of Will wielding his great staff and slamming it into his face. ‘No.’

  ‘Perhaps we need to think of something you can tell us about then,’ Simon said sarcastically. ‘What of Henry’s business? Was he doing well?’

  ‘Henry Potell was one of the foremost craftsmen in the city. Everyone who could would buy a saddle from him. They were marvellous pieces of work.’

  ‘Yet one of them broke recently. One that you had made.’

  ‘Like I said, it can happen.’

  Baldwin lifted his eyebrows. ‘I have never had a good quality saddle break under me. Do your frames often fail?’

  ‘I wouldn’t still be in business if they did, would I?’ Joel growled. ‘No, I think that my apprentice made an error. There was some greenwood out in the yard, and I reckon he picked that by mistake. Nothing more than that.’

  ‘How much would Henry have sued you for?’ Simon asked.

  ‘He said it’d depend on how much Udo expected to get from him.’

  ‘We hadn’t heard of that,’ Simon said. ‘Mabilla didn’t mention him.’

  ‘Maybe he’s dropped the matter then. I don’t know.’

  ‘Perhaps he has,’ Simon said. He didn’t like the fact that the two women had mentioned nothing about Udo suing Henry, but then he knew that many men wouldn’t discuss their business with their wives. It was possible Henry hadn’t told Mabilla about being taken to court so that she wouldn’t worry.

  ‘Do you know what Henry would have been doing up at the Cathedral?’ Baldwin asked. ‘It was in the Charnel Chapel that he was found, and it appears a peculiar place for him to visit.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Joel said.

  ‘Is there anybody else in business in Exeter who could have felt a rage against him? A rage bitter enough to kill him, or to have him killed?’ Baldwin said.