31 - City of Fiends (44 page)

‘I had thought it was you, Father,’ Gregory admitted. ‘I didn’t hurt either of them. I promise, if I can find the real killer, I will prove you were innocent and have you
released.’

‘Perhaps,’ Henry said, but there was a cynical smile on his face. ‘Except you forget that I have actually confessed. I was fortunate that I wasn’t dragged to the
Heavitree gallows that same day. Trying to win my release will not be easy.’

‘I’ll tell them that—’

‘That I lied to protect my son? Because I thought you were a murderer, or a sodomite?’ Henry asked sarcastically. ‘Since both offences will have you hanged, I should be
cautious before I used such an argument in public, Gregory.’

Gregory embraced his father and then withdrew from the gaol. Outside, he bent over and threw up, the sour taste of the pints of ale revolting. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, feeling hot and
shivery, but cleansed.

Despite all his problems, at least he was free. His father, on the other hand, might well die soon.

High Street

After leaving Master Chepman’s house, Baldwin and Simon were about to head up towards Carfoix when Sir Richard crossed the road and called to them to follow him. He dived
down a little alley near St Petrock’s Church. Halfway down there was a little door, upon which he knocked; when it opened, he plunged inside.

Simon exchanged a glance with Baldwin before following him down a flight of stairs to an undercroft. To their surprise, they found themselves in a large chamber, once used as a storage room,
with a bar set out and benches placed all around the walls. A heavy-set landlord with a square, scarred face stood at the row of barrels wiping his hands on his shirt.

‘My host, a trio of your best ales,’ Sir Richard called from the entrance, and strode over to a pair of benches.

The landlord, grumbling to himself, obeyed the knight as Simon and Baldwin sat opposite him.

‘Ah, this is a good tavern. I was here once and a man who was visiting saw another fellow who looked just like himself, except he came from Bordeaux. Could have been brothers, apart from
that. Anyway, this foreigner frowned at the local, and said, “Tell me, fellow, did your mother ever travel to Bordeaux? You look so much like me”. And the Devon man looked back and
said, “No, but my father often did”. Eh? You see? Hah!’

Baldwin smiled thinly. Sir Richard’s sense of humour had clearly returned. The big knight leaned forward, elbows on his massive knees. ‘Well? I would think that Henry Paffard
deserves all he gets if he remains in gaol.’

‘He is one of the most deserving fellows for a prison I could have thought of,’ Baldwin agreed.

‘Even in a city like this, there can be few men who would take advantage of his wards to the extent he has. He has robbed them of everything,’ Simon grunted.

Sir Richard leaned back and surveyed the other two. ‘So, are ye saying we should allow him to die on the rope, then, even though he is innocent of the murders, because he’s done
things in his time that make him fully deserving of the rope?’

‘No,’ Simon said firmly. ‘I don’t think so. I wouldn’t mind his execution because I don’t like him, but it isn’t my place to make a
judgement.’

‘No, and I’m glad it’s not mine either,’ Sir Richard said firmly. ‘But I am more exercised by the other aspect of this whole sorry affair, which is, that if Paffard
is
innocent, we still have to find the actual murderer.’

‘It is of no matter to me what happens to Henry Paffard,’ Baldwin said. ‘All we have heard shows him to be a ruthless cheat, an adulterer, a bully, and a thief. But I will find
the killer of those women, no matter what. If it was him, so much the better. But if another, I will do all in my power to capture him instead.’

‘Then we need to return, I think, to the places where the women died and see if there is something we missed,’ Sir Richard said. He looked up as the landlord approached with three
jugs and cups. ‘Thank you, host. Your ale is always a delight to a poor fellow with a raging thirst.’

Simon took a cautious swig of the ale. It was strong, sweet, and very easy to drink, he found.

Baldwin took a sip and coughed behind his hand. ‘Dear God in heaven, that’s potent!’

‘Hmm?’ Sir Richard took a deep quaff and smacked his lips. ‘Ah, as good as I recall from my last visit. Host, you keep a good barrel in your hostelry.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘So, gentles, how shall we go about this?’

Baldwin looked at Sir Richard’s round, honest face, and considered. ‘As you say, we must return to that location. It is clear that the murderer was someone local. But why commit two
murders within a few yards of each other? It makes little sense. And a motive is entirely lacking. The maid, Alice, was not disliked by any that we have heard.’

‘Except,’ Simon ventured, ‘Claricia Paffard must have felt some resentment towards the woman who had ensnared her husband, mustn’t she? It is one thing for a man to take
a wench in a tavern, but inside his own house? How very humiliating for her.’

‘She was very quiet.’ Baldwin recalled again the time when his wife Jeanne had been similarly silent after his infidelity. The hurt he had inflicted had caused her to withdraw for
some time.

Sir Richard grunted agreement and stretched his legs, draining his jug and holding it up for the landlord. ‘How would your wife respond, Simon?’

‘She would be driven to hurling plates and cups at my head, I think,’ Simon grinned.

‘But Claricia seemed to have been ground down by her husband,’ Baldwin said. ‘Her manner was that of a woman driven to extreme despair. Would you agree, Simon?’

‘I suppose so. She was certainly all but silent whenever I saw her,’ Simon nodded. ‘And always in the background.’

‘And if she had developed an extreme hatred for the maid who was the cause of her humiliation, she might just take it into her head to murder her,’ Baldwin said. ‘Alice was
stabbed in the breasts – perhaps as a comment on her sexual incontinence? If Mistress Paffard wished revenge on her rival, that might be a way to resolve it.’

‘What of the second woman?’ Sir Richard asked.

‘She was mutilated too, was she not?’ Baldwin said. ‘She had both lips cut away as though to stop her talking, but she was also stabbed in the eyes.’

‘Perhaps Madame Paffard heard that the woman was gossiping about Alice and Henry, and she felt so ashamed and embarrassed that she killed Juliana in a manner designed to put others off
from talking of the affair.’

‘There is the one problem,’ Simon reminded them. ‘The priest. Father Paul saw Henry Paffard return wearing that cloak just as the alarm was given about Juliana’s
death.’

‘Aye,’ Sir Richard agreed sombrely. ‘That is an indication that Henry Paffard was the guilty one.’

‘No,’ Baldwin said thoughtfully. ‘It only means that he returned to the house after the murder. We don’t know exactly how long after, nor do we know who else could have
been out at a similar time. Anyone could have donned his cloak. But surely it was a man who attacked the priest. Even a priest would be able to tell the difference between a man and a woman,
surely?’

Simon nodded. ‘So, I suppose we should return to the street now and ask him. Only Father Paul can help us there.’

‘Very well.’ Baldwin sighed, closed his eyes and finished his cup.

‘You wish for no more to do with the matter?’ Simon queried as they rose and left the tavern.

‘I wish only to return to my home and to see my family,’ Baldwin said truthfully. ‘We have been forced to travel too much over the last years. For my part, all I wish for now
is a peaceful time in my home. I would even surrender my position as Keeper. I no longer need such onerous duties.’

He looked up at the sun, and felt the heat on his face. It felt good, and he thought again of his wife Jeanne, her brilliant red-gold tresses, her beauty, and he felt only a sad certainty that
no matter what he wished, his life would never be a quiet one.

Paffards’ House

Back in his buttery, John the bottler set the rusted piece of metal on the bench, looking behind him into the passageway to make sure that no one was watching him. Then he
carefully reached into the fold of his tunic where he had hidden the dagger.

The blade was smeared and clotted with dried blood, and he eyed it with distaste. He must clean it back to the dull steel and then get rid of it. He couldn’t keep it about him. Ever since
that damned Keeper had described it in such fine detail at the first inquest, he had known he must dispose of it. How it had come free, he didn’t know. He had carefully pressed it beneath the
shed’s floor, safe with the other secrets there, in the certainty that no one would ever find it again. But here it was. Perhaps young Master Thomas had been playing there again. John had
done all he could to dissuade the lad from going near the shed, but he was a boy, and boys tended always to go where they were not permitted. The little brute could have pried a board loose and
tried to worm his way inside, even after all the warnings. Then, when he cut himself, the movement of his legs had brought the dagger out to the open, where John had found it. Or maybe it was only
the action of rats pulling it out.

It was fortunate that he had discovered that rusted cooperage nearby to explain the injury.

John replaced the blade in his tunic and considered. There was one good aspect, of course. If the boy had been trying that, he had at least probably convinced himself that he should not play
there again. And that was all to the good.

All the same, he would take a hammer and some new wood to where those lower planks had rotted. He didn’t want any more incidents like this.

Exeter Gaol

Sir Charles and Ulric arrived at the gaol after purchasing some bread and cheese and eating it on their way. It was as they were passing down the next street, Sir Charles
following Ulric, who knew this city better than he, that he caught sight of a face he recognised in the throng ahead. He bent his head, so that his hood would better shield his features, and broke
up a piece of bread, stuffing some into his mouth, like a famished peasant with a late lunch. He was turned away as Sir Baldwin and the other two passed by, his hands at his mouth with the bread in
them, and while he watched carefully, there was no sign of their having noticed him. They were too involved in their own discussion.

Still, it had been a close-run thing, and he felt his heart pounding as he swallowed his bread and followed Ulric.

The gaol was beneath a grubby little cell with a studded door, set into the wall beside the East Gate. Often a gaoler would allow a prisoner to meet with friends, for a slight consideration. Sir
Charles had but few coins in his purse and what he did have, he didn’t want to share.

He walked up the road towards the castle, and found some gravel in the interstices between the rocks of the wall.

Ulric waited outside. When Sir Charles knocked at the door, there was a surly grunt from the gaoler, who appeared to have been snoozing. ‘What is it?’ he yawned.

‘I want to speak with the prisoner.’

‘Oh?’ He looked Sir Charles up and down, his eyes lingering on the swollen purse at Sir Charles’s belt. ‘Why should I let you see him?’

‘Because I will make it worth your while,’ Sir Charles said. ‘Shall we go inside?’

The man hesitated, then saw Sir Charles weighing the purse in his hand. It appeared to give him an incentive, and he opened the door to a small chamber that had a trap-door in the floor.

‘He is down there?’ Sir Charles asked.

‘Aye.’ The gaoler was eyeing his purse. ‘A penny to see him.’

‘A penny?’

There was a belch and a nod from the man, and Sir Charles made a show of unwillingly untying the thong that held his purse to his belt. ‘Well, open it up, then,’ he muttered.

The gaoler turned and fumbled with the bolts, soon having them open. He lifted the trap, just as Sir Charles swung his purse. The stones and coins hit the man’s head with a dull, wet
crack, and he pitched forward into the prison. His neck broke with a dry crack as he hit the stone floor.

‘Who is that?’

‘I am Sir Charles of Lancaster. I’m here because you have made a real hash of things, haven’t you?’ he said amiably as he began to climb down the ladder. ‘We need
to talk, Henry.’