‘Are you all right, Baldwin?’
‘Yes. I couldn’t sleep.’
Simon considered asking about the scenes of death and destruction during the siege of Acre, but a look at Baldwin’s pale features persuaded him that the best cure for his friend would be to ignore his memories and hope that in time they would fade.
‘It was that fool of a coroner, I suppose. He makes enough noise to waken the dead. It’s a miracle all the corpses from the cathedral haven’t risen and walked out of the city to find a quieter cemetery.’
Baldwin smiled feebly at Simon’s attempt at lightness, but then he shook his head. ‘I am worried, Simon. The idea keeps tearing at me that the murderer could escape the city and punishment. We cannot permit the killer of a king’s messenger to escape. It is not to be borne.’
‘All we can do, we are doing. What more do you expect?’
‘I do not know. But I wish to be away from here and home again. I wish that with all my heart.’
There was a knock at their door, and a moment later Rob walked in with a bundle of twigs bound into faggots in his arms. ‘The host says if you want a warm, he’s lighting the fire and will soon have some ale spiced and hot for you.’
‘That sounds like the best offer we are likely to receive today,’ Simon said with enthusiasm.
Rob nodded and was about to leave when Simon caught something in his expression. ‘Are you all right, boy? You’re quieter than usual.’
‘I am fine, master. Just thinking, that’s all.’
Simon was going to ask him what the matter was, but from experience he knew full well that Rob’s concerns were more likely to be based upon brother Robert calling him a ‘boy’ or the quality of the sleeping quarters here at the inn than anything worthwhile, so he was more testy than usual when he asked, ‘If it’s just you thinking about your next meal, stop that and tell us whether you saw anything interesting yesterday. Did the man who would be abbot have any other adventures after he found the body in the undercroft?’
‘No. That was all the excitement he could take at the time.’
‘Fine. At least he is behaving himself. Hopefully after the surprise of finding Walter down there, he’ll be a little less keen to wander the city. That would be one less problem for me.’
‘In the meantime, I should go and tell the bishop what we have discovered so far, and about the body of Walter,’ Baldwin said.
‘Don’t forget the girl Sarra,’ Simon reminded him.
‘I haven’t,’ Baldwin admitted heavily. ‘But that young girl’s murderer is the responsibility of the sheriff in so many ways, I cannot become worried about her. She was from the sheriff’s household, and if there is one thing that seems certain about her, it is that she is seeking revenge on the sheriff himself. Surely he has enough men about him to protect him from one girl. No, I am more concerned with these other deaths. No one should dare to hurt a king’s messenger – and the man who did so probably killed two others as well. Someone who would dare that must be uniquely dangerous.’
‘Or driven by a powerful motive.’
‘As you say.’
‘Do you still believe that the murderer might be someone from Coventry?’
‘The more I think of it, the more I am convinced of it. Who else would have dared to kill a king’s man, if not someone who feared to be recognised? And Robinet was there with the messenger that night and thought that he might have recognised someone – it makes sense.’
‘Put like that, yes, it does,’ Simon agreed. ‘Although there could be many other explanations.’
‘Yes. But none would appear to make so much sense.’
‘So what should we do?’
‘Everything in our power to find this man and capture him before he can harm anyone else. We need a good description of the fellow so that we may have it broadcast to the city … but the only man who knew him has been killed. Robinet can hardly be thought of as reliable, since he was himself very drunk at the time he saw the man.’
‘So we are no further forward,’ Simon said heavily.
‘No. Yet there must be some way of finding the man. There must be!’
‘In a city of this size? You would have to be very fortunate.’
Baldwin nodded distractedly, but he had returned to peering out through the window at the morning. He could not see a way through the mists that enveloped the murders.
Ivo was happy as he returned to his mother’s home that morning. The night had been cold, but there were three taverns which had provided him with warmed, spiced ale, and there was a brazier out near the Palace Gate which had been enough to warm his fingers for short periods. But for much of the time he was involved in his mother’s business.
There were several women in the city who, like his mother, had found themselves widowed while still young. Some would occasionally take in a man and be happy to pay a little to Ivo and Edie for recommending them to their clients. It was an occasional, intermittent trade, but welcome for all that. Then there was the other business. Ivo’s position as a beadle made them a good profit from robberies.
They would learn quickly of any items that had been taken by a cut-purse or robber, and either take a commission to find the stolen goods, or at the least charge the thief for pawning them. There was little trade in the city that Edie was not aware of within a short space of time.
It was not a hard job to find out where the man had gone. There was a bawd down the alley that led north from Stepecote Street, who sometimes took in Edie’s men. She had heard the kerfuffle when the body of that man was found in the undercroft, and it made her think, because only a little while before that she had been walking up the street from the river, and she had seen a man leave the place and make his way to Michael’s house. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, because she had been busy, but now …
Yes. And Ivo thought so too. She had described him in some detail, because, as she said, he didn’t look quite the sort of man Michael would have befriended. Yet there he was. A tall, thin old man with piercing eyes and a stubble of white riming his chin.
She had earned herself another penny with that news, for Ivo believed in repaying loyalty, and she could have told anyone else. He was not sure what value he could put on the information, but that it would be useful he had no doubt, and as he walked down the alley to his mother’s house he whistled to himself. It was still early. She wouldn’t be awake yet, but he could make himself some warmed cider with honey and set the oats to soak for his breakfast.
It was with this cheery thought that he set his thumb to the latch and his shoulder to the door. And at that moment he felt the sharpness under his ear.
‘Don’t shout, master watchman. I want to speak sensibly to you and discuss how much I shall pay you.’
‘Shall we go in?’ Ivo said hopefully.
‘No. We shall remain out here for now.’
Ivo turned slowly and carefully and saw that it was the man from the night before. ‘Why do you threaten me with steel, when I am doing your bidding?’
‘Why did you remain up in the bedchamber instead of coming down to see me?’
‘It seemed better to be up there. How did you know I was there?’
‘I didn’t. But there was a staff by the door. I felt sure that the old woman must have had someone there with her.’
‘I have what you need.’
‘And I have money. Where is he?’
‘Let me fetch some breakfast and …’
‘No. You are taking me there right now, watchman.’
‘Don’t you trust me?’ Ivo said sorrowfully. There was no need for an answer.
The streets at this time of the day were almost empty. Only the very earliest hawkers had made the effort to rise and cry their wares. Shivering and ill-clad for the most part, these young girls and youths stood at street corners with bunches of herbs, or small hemp strings, hoping to sell all their stocks as soon as possible that they might leave and find a fire somewhere to fight off
the bitter wind that blew straight from the east.
Ivo noticed that the man paid none of them any attention. Rather he hurried along the streets with his hand clamped like a vice on Ivo’s upper arm. Although he didn’t see the knife, he was sure that it must be very close.
‘This man … is he likely to be dangerous?’ he ventured.
‘Very.’
‘Perhaps you should allow me to fetch reinforcements? If he bests you, you won’t want him to escape, will you?’
The man stopped, suddenly, and turned to face Ivo. He had very penetrating, dark eyes that seemed to cauterise all the blood vessels in Ivo’s brain as he stared. The intensity of his look seared all thoughts in his mind and left Ivo cowed.
‘You think he will escape me?’
They continued, but now, as they drew nearer the house where the man was staying, Ivo jerked his chin to point.
‘Good. Say nothing,’ he heard in his ear. He carried on walking, and soon the pair of them were beyond the house on the steep section of Stepecote Street, looking back to the house.
‘That is Michael’s house?’
Ivo nodded. ‘That is where I was told he was staying. What will you do?’
The man stood peering up at the place with a considering expression. Then, ‘I think now I should report the man to the Watch.’
Jen woke with a short cry as the door opened and bright sunlight flooded the little chamber, shining straight into her eyes and blinding her.
‘Now then, maid, what are you doing here in my loft?’
She wriggled away from him, deeper into the hay, staring at him with alarm. From here, in the darker recesses, she could see little. The opening was a blinding whiteness beyond the fine green-yellow hay. There was nothing there except a confusing whirl of dancing motes. They glittered before her, and she could feel them catching at the back of her throat, making her cough. Eyes watering, she tried to blink them away as she gazed forward in the direction of the voice.
And then the air cleared as the air gusted through the room and she could see him.
He was an older man, grizzled and bent like a miner, with a bush of beard and eyes of bright blue that twinkled as he smiled. Just now he wore a felt cap to cover his old locks, and he appeared to realise that it hid his face, so he slowly took it off. He looked the sort of man who would be very thoughtful, she thought; the sort who would smile a lot.
‘Come now, I won’t hurt you. You can’t stay up here, though.’
The events of the previous day came back with an awful clarity. Her lover had spurned her, and even when he heard her as he was leaving the city, he had ridden off as though he was scared of her or something. It was awful. That hog-faced bitch he lived with must have soured his feelings towards her. There was no telling what she might have said to him last night. No one could know what a man and woman spoke of in their chamber, and it was plain enough that the woman would have done all she could to poison Matthew and Jen’s relationship.
‘Maid?’ Suddenly the twinkle in the eyes had gone, to be replaced by a serious contemplation. ‘Maid, have you been hurt? Is that blood?’
She stared at him without speaking for a moment, then shot a look at her arm. From the hand up as far as her elbow was blackened with blood, and she frowned with mild confusion. There was a reason for it, she knew, but just now she couldn’t remember where it had come from.
‘Have you been harmed, child? Eh?’ His tone was even more solicitous now. ‘Was it a man from round hereabouts did that? Eh? Have you been raped?’
Suddenly she could have smiled and laughed aloud. ‘Raped … yes, I’ve been raped.’
‘You come down here, lass. You’ll be safe with me. I’m a watchman, I am. They call me Will, Will Skinner. Any man tries that with you, I’ll have his ballocks in my purse! Come, now. Do you know who it was? Was it last night? Well, we’ll have to get you straight to the sheriff, and that’s final. It’s a job for him to sort out this sort of thing. We’ll catch the bastard, maid, don’t you worry. You give me your hand, now. That’s right. Christ alive, but you’re frozen, child. Let’s get you inside first and warm you up as we may, eh? This way, child. This way.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Exeter Castle
Sheriff Matthew was up at his usual hour and, as was his wont, made a circuit of the castle’s walls before returning to his hall for his breakfast. There he found his wife already waiting, and while the first messes of men at arms entered and took their places he sat, hands on the table, watching them.
There was a strangely muted atmosphere about the hall. Usually this meal was one of the loudest, with men bellowing at each other and demanding more bread or ale. It was the beginning of their working day, and the servants tended to eat and drink their fill, putting off the moment when they must get on with their duties – but not today. Today there was a quiet, reflective feeling about the place.
It was her. The mad one. Or perhaps the friend she’d killed: Sarra. They were all feeling it. Such a shame to lose a pair of girls like them – but it couldn’t be helped. Jen was plainly lunatic and Sarra had been killed by her in a frenzied attack. Not his fault, that much was certain.
‘Bread, my dear?’ he asked, offering Lady Alice a slice before taking his own from the panter.
She looked at him, startled, and he thought to himself that she reminded him of a hart in the forest when it first heard the huntsman’s horn. Wide eyes, elfin features … God, she was lovely.
He smiled at her, but the reciprocating easing of her face was slow and only a pale reflection of his own. ‘Are you well, my dear?’
‘Husband, I have to ask you – did you ever take that girl to your bed?’
He gasped at the injustice that was done to him, his knife falling from his hand to clatter on the pewter dish. ‘You ask me that?’
‘She was so twisted with her rage, there must be some cause for it. And she claims that you promised her … that you would divorce me.’
‘If I had done that, the girl would scarcely need to kill you as she tried yesterday, would she?’ he asked reasonably. ‘And in any case, if she were to murder you, I doubt there would be a vicar in the whole of the country who would consider joining us in marriage! Can’t you see that everything she suggests is mad? She is clearly out of her senses. There is no logic to anything she says. Alice, my love, you must ignore everything she has said.’
‘I cannot but remember her face. It returned to me in my dreams! Oh, Matthew, I feel so scared. While she is free, she could appear in front of me at any time in the street.’
‘You will be safe, my love. Do not fear her. We will catch her. And until we do, you will have the best guards from all my men here.’
‘I am scared.’
‘Well, you will have to remain here in the castle. That is all.’ He sipped from his mazer – a good red wine – and then casually asked the question that had been uppermost in his own mind. ‘By the way – what were you and your maid doing down that street yesterday?’
Alice licked her lips. ‘I wished to speak to the man in the house there.’
‘The necromancer?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought I told you to avoid him, Alice.’
‘I wanted to ask about our future. I was worried, Matthew.’
‘He is dangerous,’ the sheriff stated in a low voice, leaning towards her. ‘In ways you cannot appreciate. Please, as you love me, do not visit him again. Or any other magicians.’
‘He is harmless, though.’
‘He may be so personally, but his craft makes him dangerous. Believe me, he and his type will only get us into trouble.’
And that, he reflected with some sadness as he toyed with his drink, was the understatement of the century. Suddenly his appetite was gone and he pushed his plate away, petulantly refusing any more and glaring at his silent household. He wanted to shout at them to be calm and enjoy their meal more, but he daren’t.
Exeter City
; Ivo had no idea what he was about. The man stood a long while, considering the place, especially, apparently, the door itself. It was a firm enough barrier, made of good elm boards that had been nailed to two cross-pieces, the nail heads all on display. Suddenly he spun and faced him.
‘Master watchman, there is a man inside that house who is plotting the murder of the king and his advisers. You have a duty to arrest him.’
‘What? Me? No, you have to tell the sheriff if there’s someone dangerous in there. He’s the man would have to look at writs and stuff. It’s not my place to knock the doors down,’ Ivo said. He wished he was back at home in his bed in the eaves. His job was watching over his mother while she haggled over the cost of some trinket from a thief, not risking his life in an attack on a sorcerer.
‘Do you say so? Perhaps that would be adequate in normal times, but today we must hurry. There is no time to wait.’
‘Let’s get some help from the sheriff first. What’s the hurry?’
‘There is no time. The king’s life is in danger.’
He would have argued more, but at that moment he felt the little knife under his left shoulder blade. ‘Hey – you’ll have a cut in my jack.’
‘I’ll cut more than your jack if you don’t hurry and knock on the fuckin’ door.’
Ivo hesitated, but then, as the knife dug deeper and he could feel his flesh opening, he walked forward and banged on the door.
There was the sound of feet hurrying, and then a shutter slid down in its runners. ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’
‘Open this door in the name of the king!’
Ivo heard the roar behind him, and turned to glance at the man. He seemed to have grown, and now his face displayed his anger for all to see. Suddenly he shoved Ivo from him, snatching at his heavy staff as he did so and gripped the latch. The door remained barred. He lifted the staff and used it to smash at the door, over by the hinges. He swung the staff again and again, the staff crashing hard into the timbers and sending clouds of dust rising. There was a creak and a crack, and the door began to move. Then, after yet another thunderous assault, the topmost board gave way. It remained in the door, pushed back a good two inches, but a final blow broke it away, and the next plank was taken. Once that too had fallen, the man reached in and pulled the bolts open, then hurtled inside.
The Malice of Unnatural Death: Page 35