The relief washed through me like a physician’s purgative. I sagged, exhausted, and lifted my eyes to Henry, a weak smile stretching my mouth, just as I saw his fist clench.
It caught me under the chin, and I felt a big, thick blanket suddenly fall from the sky and smother me. I knew no more.
Some people I have known have been connoisseurs of fine wines, while others can claim to be professional in the way that they assess a good ham, a slice of beef or a capon. Those all seem eminently suitable areas of expertise compared with my own.
My speciality, you see, if I can call it that, lies in the miserable experience of waking from being beaten about the head.
I have woken in pleasant surroundings. I have woken in chambers richly decorated, but with the threat of danger all about me. I have woken in horrible rooms, in alleyways, in the cold and damp, and all have added their own particular flavour to my experiences. Usually, I come to in time to see someone trying to hurt me even more, or someone preparing to threaten me. However, this once, I was glad to stir myself without any apparent threat remaining.
Of course, the fact that he had already knocked me down and threatened to remove my sausage and vegetables meant that his continued presence was less relevant. But it was still a positive aspect of this wakening, and I was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The second issue, of course, is always the degree of pain that I felt. Today, I had the pleasure of what felt like a badly bruised jaw, two loose teeth, and a lump the size of a reasonable goose egg on the back of my skull where my head had been knocked back on to the projecting stone. I felt it gingerly and winced as I felt a stabbing pain. Yes, it was painful.
Of Henry, there was no sign. I clambered to my feet, clinging to the wall to support me. The stars I had noticed when Henry bashed my head against the wall had returned, and one or two attempted to strike me, but I evaded them, closing my eyes until they had disappeared and I could make my way indoors once more. The only thought on my mind at that moment was why on earth I hadn’t insisted that Humfrie stayed with me overnight. There was, naturally, the desire to have some peace in order to be able to seduce Cat, but just now that seemed like a poor reward for the pain I had endured.
I tried calling to Raphe, but the result of opening my mouth and trying to call was so astonishingly painful that I decided not to try that again for some little while. There was a pattering of paws, and the useless mutt stood in the doorway to the kitchen, head to one side, as if questioning why I had to wake the household at such an early hour. I would have shouted at him, but my mouth and head hurt too much.
With great caution, I climbed the stairs to my bedchamber, wondering whether Cat would still be there, or whether I had been unconscious for so long that Henry had come up and taken her away with him.
She was still there, curled up in my bed like a kitten. When I sat carefully on the edge, and then rolled over to lie on my back, she stirred and stretched luxuriously, eyes still closed. When she finally gave a groan and relaxed, she turned to me, opening her eyes and smiling with a slow lasciviousness.
And then her eyes widened, the smile fled like a snowflake in a fire, and she jerked away from me.
‘Peter! What’s happened to you?’
‘Your man Henry happened to me,’ I said. I opened my mouth and tested it. It seemed to work, and I ran my fingers over my chin to see how my jaw felt. I winced: it didn’t feel good. She gently removed my hand and moaned at the sight. ‘You poor darling,’ she said.
I couldn’t disagree. My hand went to my cods to see if there was any blood.
She chuckled. ‘You want another go? Even after Henry did this?’
‘No, you …’ I stopped my tongue before I could be too rude. After all, a second bout might be possible. I was not foolish enough to refuse a sympathetic bedding. ‘He tried to cut my ballocks off.’
‘He …’ She glanced down at my cods and delicately moved my tarse out of the way to view matters more clearly. ‘Oh, you poor thing!’
I felt my heart stop. ‘Is it bad?’
‘It is terrible,’ she said, shaking her head. I tried to sit up on my elbows to take a horrified look, but she pushed me back down. ‘I can only think of one way to cure it,’ she said, and climbed into the saddle with a smile.
At first, I had a horrible thought of what damage Henry could inflict on me, were he to learn that I had been enjoying little Cat once more, and then I began to fear for the damage she might do to me. As matters stood (if you will excuse the pun), I thought my poor pikestaff could be ripped from me, if there was a deep enough cut, but even as I became aware of such concerns, I was rescued by the hammering on the front door.
There is something about the sound of my door being belaboured in that manner that always has the effect of making lust and desire flee. While my brain was willing enough, other organs were not.
‘I suppose you might as well go and see who it is,’ Cat said regretfully, casting a glance of disappointment towards my malfunctioning vitals.
I hurriedly grabbed my hose and pulled them up. The laces of the codpiece were still dangling, but I was able to fix them with some simple knots, and I pulled a shirt over my head as I made my way downstairs, avoiding the bruises on my head and jaw.
‘Who is it?’ I demanded at the door itself. I had taken the precaution of picking up my gun, and its weight was comforting in my hand. There was something about the firearm that inspired confidence, even if, as I feared, this was her damned man again. No one else would knock with such violence, other than a man who thought his wife was inside. Or so I thought.
‘Open the door, man! I have matters to discuss. ’S’blood, you’re fretful, fellow!’
‘Sir Richard,’ I said, drawing the bolts. ‘I give you joy of the morning, sir! I am very happy to see you.’
He was frowning at my face. ‘What happened to you? Did you insult a horse, that it would kick you like that?’
‘This was no horse’s kick, but a man’s fist.’
‘By heaven, the man must have a punch like a maul! Your face has been sorely bruised, my friend.’
‘Yes, well, he was offended by my seeing his maiden.’
‘Seeing, eh? I hate to think what he would do if he thought you were swiving the maid!’
I glared at him. It had little impact, other than to make him laugh.
‘Where is your misbegotten servant?’ he asked. ‘Why are you opening your own door, when you have a man to do it? You would own a cat and catch your own mice?’
‘I don’t know where he is,’ I admitted. I didn’t want to have to say that the fool was yet abed. Sir Richard would have thought it reprehensible to allow a servant to sleep so late, forcing his master to open the door to guests.
Sir Richard shook his head, walked to the buttery and bellowed at the top of his voice, ‘Raphe! You useless piece of dog turd, get yourself out of bed and down here before I come and fetch you!’
He turned to me with a grin. ‘That should fetch him out! Where’s his dog?’
I nodded and winced. His voice had entered my skull and now seemed to be rattling around inside like a loose cannonball. It felt as though my head was going to come adrift. ‘I don’t know. It was here last night, useless brute. I’ve seen more useful slugs than that thing.’
‘Stop yer moanin’. Anyone would think you’d been seriously injured.’
I forbore to mention the near damage done to my manhood as he led the way to my parlour. ‘Why did you come here so loudly?’
‘Why’m I here? Why, because I’ve had no success,’ he declared, and strode to my best chair. The fire was not yet lit, and he stared at the charred embers with disgust. ‘I had thought that the miller would be easy enough to find, but although I’ve spoken to men up and down the riverside, no one has been able to help. The damn fools take my ale and wine, but none of them has anything to say about strangers appearin’ in the last few days.’
‘What can happen, I believe, is that s
ome men will take money from strangers to hide them,’ I said sarcastically.
‘Aye, of course. But I have spoken to thief-takers from the Tower to the Black Friar’s, and they know all the men in their areas. There is not one man of thirty or more from east of London who’s appeared in the last week or so. The only people here are those who have been around for an age, or so they say. I’ll need men all along the river to find a new fellow.’
‘And both sides,’ I pointed out. ‘There are many who would be happy to hide a fellow in the Bishop of Winchester’s lands south of the river.’
Sir Richard balled a fist and smacked it into his cupped left hand. ‘Peter’s murderer can’t be allowed to escape!’
‘Peter and the girl’s murderer,’ I pointed out.
‘Yes, the poor miller’s daughter. She must have suffered in her life, poor child. It’s hard to imagine what she must have endured from such a violent man.’
‘Yes,’ I said, thinking of Dorothy and her black eye.
‘Where is that boy of yours?’ Sir Richard muttered, going to the door and bellowing again for Raphe.
‘Perhaps he has gone out to the shop?’ I wondered.
‘Perhaps he’s still lying abed,’ Sir Richard said. ‘You should go and check to see if he’s all right.’
I had my hand to my head at that moment and incautiously nodded. It felt at first as though my head must fall from my shoulders, which made a spasm of pain shoot through my shoulders and spine. My chin accidentally hit my hand, and I felt a pain so intense that I wished my head had been removed.
‘I’ll go,’ I said.
Raphe was nowhere to be seen in the house, and I concluded that he had indeed taken himself and his ‘Hector’ to the market to purchase viands or other edibles. I was somewhat surprised, since he had not displayed much in the way of enthusiasm for shopping in the past, nor any great ability for rising early in the morning.
When I returned to my parlour, I was surprised to find that Cat was already dressed and was sitting demurely with Sir Richard, engaging him in conversation about his brother and the search for his murderer.
‘What sort of man would kill a priest, Sir Richard?’ she asked with a sort of enquiry that displayed the prettiest delicacy of spirit.
‘Alas, my child, there are many who would harm a man of God, no matter what the colour of his cloth. Just as there are many who would dare break into a church to steal the valuables. Thievery is nothing new, sadly. But to kill a man like my brother …’
‘I am so sorry.’
‘Thank you. But to kill him for an imagined fault, that is surely the worst of all crimes. He was no womanizer, no matter what others might say. I will not have his name impugned in that way. He should be remembered as a kind, good man.’
‘He did appear to be popular with the feminine members of his congregation,’ I said.
‘There were many who sought his advice and sympathy, I have no doubt. But Peter would not do more.’
‘And he deserted Dorothy and their sons.’
‘He had no choice in that matter. The law forced him to do so.’
‘What will you do?’ Cat asked.
Sir Richard gazed at her, and as he shrugged, I was struck by the evidence of his misery. The man had never before, I suppose, had to accept defeat. He was a man to whom submission was a fresh experience. For knights like him, being beaten was something that happened to other people. He had been born to a good family, had been granted an education, had risen to his post of Coroner, and in all that time he had known only success. He inflicted punishments on others, he recorded their crimes, he arrested them – and he had never felt this struggle to achieve. It had always been there for him to grasp. And now, in the most important matter of his life – his own brother’s murder – he was lost.
I saw his confusion and I was sympathetic. This man had, after all, rescued me from Arch and Hamon. ‘Perhaps it would be best to return to St Botolph’s and organize for a proper search for the miller’s daughter?’
Cat nodded. ‘Yes, that would surely be sensible, Sir Richard. You must find her, to make sure that she has a Christian burial.’
‘But her murderer, and me brother’s, is here, somewhere. I can’t just up and leave town.’
Cat nodded thoughtfully. ‘But there may be more you can learn. Someone may be able to give you a scar or a birthmark that will allow you to identify this murderer. Or perhaps he didn’t leave the village at all. Perhaps he is there even now, and hiding in the woods as an outlaw would.’
Sir Richard slowly considered. ‘It is possible. It would explain his not being here.’
‘Perhaps that would be best, then,’ I said. ‘You should ride back and see what may be learned there.’
‘I will need help,’ Sir Richard said.
‘Peter will help you,’ Cat said. ‘He wouldn’t want you to go alone, would you, Peter?’
‘Peter?’ Sir Richard said, turning to me.
Just at that moment, I was in no mood for a ride, no matter how brief. At least, not on horseback. Besides, I wanted to see Humfrie. ‘No, Sir Richard. I am sorry, but I cannot join you today. I have been belaboured, pummelled and sorely beaten. It’s a miracle that I am still able to—’
‘Peter?’ Sir Richard said again.
‘Sir Richard, I cannot join you today.’
‘Peter?’
I gave him a cold stare. He returned mine with an expression of pure cynicism and a raised eyebrow that told me in so many words that he knew he had me for lying to the wench and using a pseudonym.
I know when I am beaten.
I did insist on breaking my fast before departing. And with Cat there to aid me, I was able to enjoy a little exercise as well. She had, bless her, a tear in her eye as she waved me off from my bed, her hair tousled, the sheets and blankets all disarrayed, and my fervent desire to remain with her playing havoc with my ability to leave. She was such an enticing, entrancing maiden.
Sir Richard had suggested that we should meet at the stables just down from Aldgate. I made my way thither, shoving my pistol into my belt with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. I put the balls and powder into a bag and pulled the strap over my head so that it hung over the gun, making the weapon less obtrusive. With my head thundering painfully, it was not so easy. I walked with my back hunched, my head down. The bruise at the back of my skull was more painful than the bruise at my chin – not that it wasn’t a close match. With every step I took, the rearmost injury seemed to pound, while that forward gave a stabbing pain. Different, you see, but equally painful in their own ways.
The way to the stables took me down an alley to a narrow street which could only take a standard car, and it was as I was about to cross the street that he caught my arm.
I squeaked. Instantly into my mind flashed a picture of blasted Henry once more. The hand on my arm jerked, and I was pulled around to meet the glowering features of Hamon.
You can tell how confused and injured I was at the time by the simple fact that I considered this a good thing. My only thoughts were of that weighty fist approaching my chin and all the pain that had ensued. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ I said, with evident relief.
Hamon had a fleeting look of embarrassment cross his face before he fitted a fresh malevolent scowl to it and leered at me. ‘You think me turning up is going to be good for you? I’ll have you know that I have my snippers here,’ he said, patting his pocket.
‘That is fine. However, I am in a hurry,’ I said, gabbling rather. ‘Have to be away, you see. Got to meet a man.’
‘Yes: Arch.’
‘I would like to,’ I said, trying to pull my arm from his grip. ‘But I have an important meeting. People are depending on me. They’re expecting me.’
‘And Arch is expecting you. I don’t want to keep him waiting. Nor do you.’
‘Let me go!’
‘For one thing, it’s difficult to find a decent servant nowadays, isn’t it?’ he said, smiling to display a row of un
pleasant teeth.
I almost fell over as his breath caught me. It rocked me back on my heels, and I coughed and almost retched. ‘Why does he want to see me now? I have told him I’ll get the money shortly.’
‘He doesn’t trust you.’
‘He doesn’t trust me?’ I exclaimed, and I was offended by the implication. After all, it was he who had forced me to gamble and increased my debt daily.
‘I’ll put it like this: you’ll come with me now if you want to see your servant again,’ Hamon said. ‘At least, all in one piece, anyway.’
That put a different complexion on things, of course. It was one thing to mislay a general boy of all work and quite another to mislay a boy who was related to my master, John Blount. I had always had the impression that Raphe was more a local spy, whose main task was to furnish my master with any improprieties I might commit, rather than to support my well-being. Since Master Blount thought me an excellent assassin, he perhaps did not consider that I required assistance in self-defence.
‘You have my boy?’
‘You’re quick. Yes, we have Raphe. He’s at Arch’s house now. And you’re coming, too.’
‘Let me just—’
‘And every time you delay matters means a joint of his fingers with my snippers.’
Arch’s ‘house’ was a small building that leaned alarmingly against a stone wall enclosing a merchant’s home. On one side of the wall was a delightful garden, I imagine, with roses and a vegetable patch, a small pasture, some cattle and pigs mingling with the merchant’s horses; on the other side was a hovel little larger than the pigs’ sties. A dog was barking furiously. In London there were always dogs barking furiously.
Hamon pushed me inside, and I stood still while the world stopped reeling and my head stopped whirling.
The Dead Don't Wai Page 17