The Malice of Unnatural Death: (38 page)

‘As you guessed. My friend James was with me when I said those things to Saer, and he told the king. But the queen interceded
on my behalf, and I believed my friend when he told me on the night he died that she only did so because he had told her what
had happened to me. Otherwise I might still be there now.’

‘Still, you did have good reason to wish to curse James at the time,’ Simon noted.

‘Yes. And when I bumped into him here in Exeter, I wanted to grab a knife and end his life there and then for
what he did. Except then I saw his eyes, and instead of remembering that one crime against me, I found myself recalling all
the evenings by a campfire, or at an inn. All the dinners we’d taken together, all the ale we’d drunk … it made it hard
to stick steel in his belly. And then I saw another thing – he was terrified of me. Terrified! Of me! It made me want to slap
him about the face, seeing that. So when he offered to buy me an ale, I had to accept.’

‘Did he tell you what he was doing in the city?’ Coroner Richard asked.

‘He was bringing messages to the sheriff mainly, although there was something for the bishop too. It was mainly the sheriff. Have you heard of the arrests in Coventry? There has been a necromancer there, who, with twenty or more others, plotted to
kill the king and his advisers, if you can believe it! James said that he was here with special writs for the sheriff to arrest
any other culprits down here, and then to have them sent to London to be questioned by the king’s own men.’

‘I see. Do you have any idea who could have wanted to see your old companion dead?’ Baldwin enquired after a moment.

‘Ah!’ Newt said. He took a long pull at his ale and wiped his mouth. Speaking thoughtfully, he told them all he could recall
from that last night when he had wandered drunkenly homewards with James, only to wake the next morning alone, and with a
broken head.

‘Do you think James could have done that to you?’ the coroner demanded. ‘He plied you with ale all night and then struck you
down? Hardly credible to me.’

‘Or to me, unless he thought that there was danger ahead. I think he saw someone or something that made him fearful.
He struck me to keep me quiet, and perhaps leave me safe, before going on. Or he set me down somewhere safe and someone else
knocked me down.’

‘He was drunk?’ Baldwin shot out.

‘We both were.’

‘Was there blood near you when you woke?’

‘Yes,’ Newt remembered. ‘And on my knife.’

‘Then the riddle is easily explained. The messenger was the target, Master Robinet. You gained your lump when you were knocked
down by an assailant – or two or three – who wanted information from James. I imagine they cut off his fingers while he was
alive in order to prise that information from him. If they wanted to torture him extensively, that would have taken time,
and perhaps they had little enough. Still, they got such information as they felt they needed, so they drew a cord about his
throat and killed him. Perhaps in the barn with you, perhaps at the rubbish heap. And then they simply hid him. And there
he might have lain for some while, if a hog hadn’t taken a fancy to his hand.’

‘That is all clear enough. Except, why should the messenger be killed?’ Simon muttered.

‘I think this man has answered that for us already,’ Baldwin said. ‘John of Nottingham was the man Michael said was renting
that undercroft. And now we hear of a necromancer from Coventry who caused writs to be sent all about the country. Do you
not think that perhaps this John could have escaped, only to see the messenger who was carrying messages to have him arrested? What would John do? He paid an accomplice and hunted down the messenger, bringing him to a place where he knew he could overwhelm
the fellow, and when he was sure he had all he needed, he killed James and threw away his body. A callous and
barbaric way to treat a Christian corpse.’

‘What of John’s murder today?’

‘I should think that someone who wanted revenge against him must have decided to take action,’ Baldwin said quietly.

‘Me? But I swear, I wouldn’t recognise him if I saw him,’ Robinet said hastily. ‘You must believe me, Sir Baldwin. I had no
idea. All I was doing there was watching for the stranger, to see …’

‘Yes?’

‘I wanted to see whether it was the same man I thought I had seen the night James was killed. But from the description, I
don’t see how it could have been. The man I saw was not too tall. But others said the killer was over there at the house.’

‘Well, let us hope he was the killer,’ Coroner Richard grunted heavily. ‘Rather than some poor innocent, eh?’ And he looked
at Newt with a contemplative air.

It was plain enough that he thought Newt had taken the law into his own hands and removed a murderer. And did not disapprove.

Alice
saw the crowd outside the house from the top of Stepecote Street, and she glanced at Sarra with a perplexed frown. ‘What is
all this? I thought he was released today.’

‘I shall go and ask, mistress, if you want,’ Sarra suggested, and soon she was pushing her way through the mass of people. She could not reach the front of the crowd, but from a vantage point – which was a small wooden crate she found lying in the
street – she was able to see that there was a beadle standing nervously with a polearm in his hand, surveying the crush with
wariness bordering on alarm. Sarra recognised him, but there was no possibility of getting to him and asking what was happening,
not with all these people about. However, there was a small, scruffy urchin nearby. She stepped down from the box and walked
up to him.

‘What is happening over there?’

Rob had been happily engaged in studying a pair of pigeons on the roof and wondering whether he could hit one with a stone
when the young woman prodded him with her foot. He looked her up and down, lifted his eyebrows, shrugged, and snorted to himself.
‘What’s in it for me if I tell you?’

‘A
smack on your head if you don’t answer sharply,’ Sarra said sweetly. She had two brothers.

He scowled. ‘There’s a wizard lives here – he’s been murdered. Say his head was almost taken off his body.’

Sarra gave him a close look. She only knew of one necromancer in this street. ‘I heard tell he was all right this morning. He had been kept in the gaol overnight and released earlier today – and now he’s dead?’

‘Look over there and you’ll see the beadle guarding the body until the inquest can be held,’ Rob said. He was waiting here
for Busse to reappear. The man had retreated into the house with Langatre a short time ago, and Rob wanted to follow him again. It was growing chilly out here. Even in the midday sun it was cold.

‘Do they know who killed him? Or why?’

‘Nah! You know how people are. The fornicating churls from this roadway are all clucking about like gossips from any other,
but they won’t help the coroner for nothing.’

‘Wait there!’ Sarra said, and hurried to her mistress. ‘Langatre priest is dead, my lady,’ she gasped as she reached Lady Alice. ‘Apparently someone murdered him this morning. I saw the beadle there with my own eyes.’

Lady Alice felt as though she had been buffeted by a heavy blow. She rocked on her heels and blinked, momentarily overwhelmed
by nausea. There was only one thought in her mind: that her husband had somehow learned about her visits to Langatre and had
taken his own revenge for her discussions with the magician.

It was no surprise. If a man learned that his barren wife was seeking the aid of a magician, he might well imagine that the
latter could have taken advantage of her. And
although she had been the soul of propriety in all their negotiations, she could all too easily comprehend that her husband
might have flown off the handle at the thought that she had been here to consult a known sorcerer. It must have made him mad.

Unless it was something to do with that little whore Jen.

Alice felt the breath catch in her throat at the thought. What if Jen was in reality her husband’s lover, as the mediocre-minded
little hussy had implied? If Matthew was in love with her, he would not want Alice to suddenly conceive, and he would ruthlessly
remove any man who might be able to help her …

No, that was ridiculous. And yet, if he heard that his own wife was consulting a necromancer in order to achieve something,
just at the time when he had learned of the attack on Hugh le Despenser, he would want the fact suppressed. And he could be
ruthless in pursuit of his career, as Alice knew. It was foolish in the extreme of her not to have seen this! So stupid! For
her to see a magician at just this time was asking for trouble. Of course her husband could not possibly condone her visits
to Langatre when his own master, Despenser, would be made so angry by the idea. It was just a matter of bad fortune that she
had decided to come here today to see him, after reading that curious little note.

Be careful!
she had read.
Your husband knows all our business.

Fortunately she had had the presence of mind to throw the offending thing straight onto the fire, and then, calling for Sarra,
had felt a little foolish in leaving so swiftly, but now she felt more than ever vindicated. It was merely a shame that she
had not managed to get here sooner, or that the
message had not been sent earlier so that she could have come and protected Langatre from her husband’s men.

‘Mistress? What would you have us do?’ Sarra asked.

‘We should return to the castle,’ Alice said with a catch in her throat. She turned, and was about to make her way up the
street when she saw the twisted features only a pace or two away. As the steel flashed, Alice screamed and lifted both hands
to protect herself.

Michael Tanner felt tired as he left the keeper and his companions. They had questioned him quite fiercely, he felt, and the
experience had left him drained. And it was all for nothing, sod them all!

The last days had been exhausting. Ever since the shock of hearing that the attempt to assassinate the king and his bastard
sons-of-the-devil, the two Despensers, had been betrayed, Tanner had been on tenterhooks, waiting for the men to arrive at
his door and take him away. Yet nothing had happened. Life had continued as though nothing untoward had occurred. While he
knew that men were being tortured in Coventry, he heard no signs here in Exeter that anything was wrong.

And it was good to reflect that while all the associates in the attempt were arrested, the one crucial man in the whole enterprise, John of Nottingham, had escaped and made his way here.

Sheriffs tended to be corrupt, but among such a dishonourable rabble there could be one or two exceptions. And Croyser was
one such. A deeply religious man, who believed with all his heart in the life to come and the Gospels, Croyser hated what
he saw the Despensers doing to his land and his people. He deplored the way that the king
acquiesced to each and every demand made by the Despensers, and he refused to see all the conspirators taken, hanged and displayed
in order to satisfy their lust for revenge. Instead he had released John of Nottingham and given him instructions on where
to go: to Croyser’s old servant’s son and still loyal retainer, Michael Tanner.

A message had already arrived, warning Michael to expect John soon, and it was a good thing it got to him. Otherwise he would
not have considered talking to such a bedraggled figure.

He first saw the fugitive necromancer outside the tavern. There was little enough in the sight to inspire confidence. Shabby
clothing, gaunt features … little enough to speak of power and importance. Michael would have left him there, had he not
already been contacted, and as it was, he at first thought that this was only some beggar who had appeared by coincidence,
and would have left him to the mercies of the night. But then he caught sight of those eyes, the deep-set, dark eyes of a
man who held inconceivable power. There was a force which emanated from his soul and fired the eyes with authority.

This was a truly awesome character, and fearsome. He gave off a sense of command that was not human, as though any insult
would be rewarded immediately with a punishment more ferocious than even the Despenser could imagine.

Yes. There had been much to fear, looking into those eyes. Not as much as some, of course. The man who killed him was clearly
even more to be feared than his victim.

Tanner walked to his barrel and poured himself a strong ale. He felt light-headed and not a little emotional. The idea that
the effort, all the planning, all the terror at the idea of
discovery, had been in vain, was enervating. He could have toppled over for lack of command over his legs. Sitting was impossible. If he sat, he might never rise again.

All that work, he thought, and drained his cup.

And as the cup was raised, he heard a knock at the door.

His heart lurched like a rache seeing a cat. ‘Fool, fool, fool!’ he swore at himself. Christ Jesus! If John was dead, obviously
they’d known where he was, and that meant they probably knew where all the conspirators were. They must have been following John or someone else, and now they were going about the city and capturing all those who’d ever had anything to do with the
conspiracy. Why had he come back here to his house? He must have been mad! He was a cretin!

The knock came again: urgent, demanding. With leaden feet, Michael Tanner started to cross the floor to the door, but before
he could reach it the door sprang open, and in the doorway was only emptiness. He gaped, staring, and even as he did so a
figure, tall, slim, clad in dirty grey and black, slipped round the doorframe and into his house. And as Tanner took in the
sight, he felt his reason slipping.

‘In God’s name—’ he began.

‘Yes, friend. In God’s and all the saints’ names,’ said John of Nottingham. He drew his lips back from his teeth and bared
them briefly. ‘But before we start our prayers, do you close that door and keep all unwanted eyes from us, eh? Because we
have work to do.’