The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) (10 page)

His words brought her head round as though their import suddenly struck at her. ‘“Grudge”? Why do you call it that? No, there
was nothing like that!’

Baldwin hesitated. He had been in situations like this before, when a careless choice of words had led to an unexpected retort.
Her reaction was not that of a woman who was following the same line of thought as his own. He had meant only that an officer
of the law would know people who might have had reason to want to revenge themselves upon him. Baldwin knew of three men whose
brother or father had been executed as a result of his own enquiries, and he was always alert to the possibility of an attack
from them. Surely Daniel had similar
contacts who could desire his death – such as friends of the old man who had died when Daniel struck him on the head.

But she was not thinking of that when she responded. No, she had the shock of a new idea in her mind, unless he was much mistaken:
an idea that horrified her. He wondered what it might be.

It had always been intended to be a moderately quiet affair. There was little need for a ceremony full of pomp and nonsense.
John had already seen that Guibert didn’t want that, and he was sure that Sir William would have preferred a solemn, calm
funeral without any fuss. After all, he had been strongly swayed by John’s preaching, and the language John had used about
the failings of modern life had influenced Sir William to the end.

Sir William had been a brave man when he was younger, of course. His youth had been spent as a pilgrim in the Holy Land, earning
himself a reward in Heaven. Any man who exiled himself on pilgrimage would be renewed, but one who travelled to the land of
Christ Himself and fought to protect it from the heathen would win a plenary indulgence. Provided that he had already confessed
his sins, all would be forgiven, not only on earth, but in Purgatory as well. It was a promise made long ago by Pope Urban
at Clermont. There was no guarantee of an automatic place in Heaven, of course. No, that was up to God’s divine grace, and
no man could be entirely certain of it. But if a man had faith and behaved honourably, there was no reason to suspect that
he might be refused.

Some, of course, thought that they could escape the trap and live well here on earth and still win a place. That was why preachers
like John spent so much time explaining the truth. When a man died, it was not the end. The body which had housed a man’s
soul was, when dead, merely the abode of the
worms which fed on his decaying flesh. In fact John was rather proud of one line of preaching he had used effectively, which
described how the fatter a man’s body was, the more flames would be needed to burn him in Hell. An eternity of pain awaited
those who gluttonously fed themselves vastly more than they truly needed, while the starved and scrawny would suffer less.

Sir William had paid attention to that, certainly. From the weight of his coffin, there was little left of him but skin and
bone. Poor old fellow. In truth John would miss him. He had grown quite fond of Sir William of Hatherleigh.

And now the body was under the hearse, the candles were lighted, and the wintry sun was lancing in through the windows, making
the dust dance like tiny angels. It was the sort of day that any man would be proud to be buried on.

There was a shout from the doorway, and a gasp from the assembled friars. John felt a cold terror suddenly grip his soul,
and he was too petrified to turn and face this imminent danger. It was all he could do to glance at Prior Guibert.

The old man stood facing the altar with a distant smile on his face as a ringing clatter of weapons began to batter at the
chapel’s door. He was still for a long while, and then his hand rose and stroked his pate.

Baldwin and Sir Peregrine left the woman and stood in the street for a short time, arguing.

‘She is clearly highly distressed, Sir Baldwin. Your questioning was at best impertinent when the woman was so distraught.’

‘She was as collected as a queen. There was no obvious pain there, man,’ Baldwin snapped. ‘If you want to seek justice for
her and her husband, you must allow me to question as I see fit.’

‘I will not have you upsetting the recently widowed for no purpose.’

‘“No
purpose
”? I wish to learn the truth!’

‘But not by upsetting this lady; I won’t see you do that.’

‘Then you are not fit to serve as Coroner! It is your duty to find any evidence that might point to the culprit so that the
murderer can be captured, and the fines collected for this infringement of the King’s Peace. Your job, Coroner, is to record
all relevant information.’

‘I do not need a Keeper to tell me my job.’

‘Perhaps you do. You are rather new to the position, are you not?’

‘You overstep yourself, Sir Baldwin!’ Sir Peregrine hissed, and there was genuine anger in his voice.

‘No, Sir Coroner, I do not think I do!’ Baldwin said, aware of Edgar at his side. Irritably he shook his head. ‘No, Edgar!
I do not intend to fight with Sir Peregrine. Sir Coroner, this is ridiculous. The woman is widowed, yes. But she may hold
information which is relevant to finding her husband’s murderer.’

‘You treated her like a suspect instead of a victim.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed firmly. ‘Because I believe that she is. However, my questions were designed to establish her innocence
as well as the identity of her husband’s murderer.’

‘She was perfectly clear on that point, I believe. The man, the pederast her husband spoke of, has been creeping into houses
all over the city. She and her husband have seen him often enough before.’

‘Yes, which was itself curious, don’t you think? He’s been seen so often, and yet her evidence implies that it’s only recently
that she and her husband have grown so concerned that they have bothered to protect their children from him. Does that not
strike you as strange?’

‘There is little that surprises me about the behaviour of people,’ Sir Peregrine said.

‘There are times when their actions deserve further study. I must see the widow Gwen and the children.’

‘You cannot mean to question them too? A nine-year-old and a lad half her age?’

Baldwin snapped, ‘No. But I’d be keen to speak to someone who knows the family, and surely the woman who offered a place to
the children while their mother recovered would be such a one?’

Sir Peregrine nodded. He was distracted, and knew it. Looking at the rising anger on Sir Baldwin’s face, he had the grace
to feel ashamed. Sir Baldwin was not a well man yet, and here he was being roused by Sir Peregrine himself. ‘I am not sure
what is the matter with me today, Sir Baldwin. I apologise for any offence given. It was not intended. Do you think that this
man Webber has any bearing on the matter? For my part I can conceive of no other who would have had a hand in the murder.’

‘I can conceive of several, Sir Peregrine,’ Baldwin said. ‘First, the pederast; then any relatives of the man – Ham, was it?
– whom Daniel killed the other day. And, finally, there is always the wife. No! Do not bother to rush to her defence. If she
has one, we shall find it. Be that as it may, it is often the wife who kills her husband, or the husband who kills the wife,
when there is a dispute in a household. Often you need look no further. Still, there are some factors which lead me away from
that conclusion …’

‘What are they?’

‘Well, all too often when there is a killing within the family, you’ll smell plenty of ale or wine on both parties. There
was very little in the room with that body. I smelled little if any on
Daniel, and from the look of her, his wife was not drunk either. Her eyes showed little sign of it, only tears, and I didn’t
notice the reek of sour wine about her. No, there is nothing that shows definitely that they were drinking and had a fight.
Even the timing. I understand that the screams were heard very early this morning?’

‘The watch hurried to the hue and cry during Matins.’

‘So some while before dawn, then,’ Baldwin noted. Matins was celebrated before Prime, which was the dawn service at the cathedral.
The murder had taken place not long after the middle of the night. ‘Not the sort of time at which a man should be walking
the streets.’

‘No. He should have been noticed for that if nothing else.’

‘First, then, let us see whether there is any sign of an actual break-in at Daniel’s house,’ Baldwin said, and set off across
the street to the sergeant’s home once more. ‘And then I would like to meet his little girl again.’

‘That would be cruel, Sir Baldwin!’ Sir Peregrine protested. ‘At least allow her some hours to recover herself and take what
comfort she can from her mother.’

Baldwin stopped and stared back the way he had come, but he didn’t see the house where Juliana sat with her children and her
neighbour about her. In his mind’s eye he saw his own wife shrieking with horror beside his fallen body, his face twisted
in death like Daniel’s, his blood draining as quickly from the slit throat, while his daughter Richalda screamed and wailed
inconsolably.

It was only recently that he had been near-mortally wounded. He clenched his fist and rotated his shoulder a little to ease
the tension at his collarbone where the arrow had pierced him. Richalda and his wife hadn’t been there when he was hit, but
he knew how they would have reacted had he died. And were a
man to have arrived shortly after his death, demanding answers to questions such as the ones he had put to Juliana, how would
Jeanne have felt? More: what would she have said had she heard that the same inquisitor was intending to question her darling
Richalda too?

Hopefully Jeanne would castrate the bastard, Baldwin thought.

‘You are right, Sir Peregrine. I shall not question the child. No, we shall come to comprehend this matter without such blunt
tactics.’

If only, he would later think, such snap judgements could be withdrawn and their consequences annulled. As it was, he took
the decision with the best of intentions, little knowing that it would lead to many more deaths and much pain and suffering.

Guibert stood and faced the men in his doorway. ‘What is the meaning of this sacrilege?’

‘You’re holding a funeral in here, Prior! You know you don’t have the right without discussing it with the canons.’

‘Who are you? Is that Peter de la Fosse? What do you mean by this intrusion? We can bury this man in our chapel. He has made
over his wealth to us already. There is nothing here for you, Canon.’

‘Don’t try to persuade me of that, Prior. You’ve extorted all his wealth, I have no doubt, and you’re welcome to install his
body in your cloister when we have done with it, but the cathedral has the monopoly of all funerals still. That man is ours.
The candles, the cloth, everything is cathedral property. You’ll relinquish it now!’

John frowned and stared at the canon with confusion. It sounded as though Peter was himself unconvinced. He was plainly anxious,
nervy, as though he feared that the friars might attack him. Well, that was unsurprising. He was guilty of an unholy intrusion.

‘You are performing an act of sacrilege. Leave now.’

‘We’ll leave when we’ve got our man!’

Guibert’s head rose impressively on his shoulders. ‘My
fellow, this is a privileged chapel. You are here without permission and in breach of the peace. Be gone!’

‘Prior,’ the man said, and stepped forward with a fixed stare in his fretful eyes. When closer, he snapped his fingers under
the Prior’s nose. ‘I give
that
for your peace. You’re always making it your business to steal our funerals and preach against the cathedral and the Bishop,
God bless his soul! Well, it’s all going to change now. We won’t have it any more.’

‘Who are “we”?’ Guibert asked mildly.

‘The canons. We have new blood in the chapter now, and we won’t have any more of this nonsense.’ He motioned and four sheepish-looking
lay denizens of the cathedral close approached, two of them looking nervously at the Prior.

‘Well may you look so anxious, my sons. Today you perform the devil’s work. You are here to steal the body of a man who desired
only to be left in peace after his death. When you remove him, you will take away an unhappy soul. Here he would have lain
happily, content after his long life, with our prayers to speed his journey. But you are to interrupt his passage by removing
him. He will haunt you for all eternity, my friends.’ Guibert shook his head sadly.

‘Don’t listen to him. Take the body and we’ll go. Snuff those candles and take them too.’

The four began to blow out the candles, pulling them from their spikes and carefully placing them in sacks. One friar interposed
himself, but was roughly pushed from their path. He stumbled and fell against a lattice in front of the altar, which broke,
the thin dry lathes crackling dustily as he tumbled through it.

John made as though to go and defend the priory’s property, but Guibert put out a hand when he heard his movement and gripped
his shoulder. ‘No, no, John. Remain here with me,’ he
said gently. ‘There is no point in argument or fighting. These ruffians are proof against all moderation.’

The body was lifted on its bier, and John watched with his eyes glittering fiercely as it was carried towards them.

‘You can have him back when he’s had his funeral,’ the canon sneered. To John’s eye he was gaining in confidence now that
no one stood against him. ‘And don’t try this sort of nonsense again. I’d have thought you would have learned by now that
we won’t suffer this infringement of our rights. Our Bishop has his memory still, you know.’

‘Yes,’ Guibert said slyly. ‘And the ear of the King … sometimes. And at other times, he may not. Your Bishop is not long
for this world, man. And his excommunication is still in place. It is sad that he has chosen to take all of you with him.’
He turned to face the approaching bier. ‘I am truly sorry, my sons. You will pay with your eternal lives for this dreadful
act of violence. Striking a friar in his chapel, breaking our lattice, stealing our candles and ornaments, and taking a body
in the process of his funeral … these are terrible crimes. You shall be punished. All will be excommunicate! Now, if you
do not fear God, go with your trophies, but remember, no matter what penance you perform for this evil, you can never wash
away the sin. You are defiled for ever.’

John could see one of the nervous-looking men casting about towards the others, but another in front of him just sneered and
spat. ‘You’re a friar, but our Bishop has more power than you! He can overrule any sentence you lay on us. You’re the ones
breaking the laws, not us.’

‘He is right,’ said the canon. ‘Be grateful that we won’t bother to report this. Come, we must return to the cathedral to
give this man his funeral. We shall keep the body in St Peter’s for a while. Come and collect him when you’re ready.’

With a last contemptuous glance at the Prior, the man turned on his heel and followed the men carrying the body.

‘Prior, I am so sorry,’ John said as the great door was closed on their arrogant departure.

‘Sorry? For what? It is exactly what I expected, and what I wished,’ Guibert said softly. ‘Brother, now we have the cathedral
where we want them.’

Baldwin walked round the house to the window he had seen before. It had been mended haphazardly, with a patch of wood nailed
over the splinter, but when he tested it with his hand it moved.

‘Useless! Someone has levered this away.’

‘How could they do that?’ Sir Peregrine demanded. He pushed past Edgar to join Baldwin and studied the flap of wood. ‘But
this has not merely been prised away, has it?’

‘No. It has been expertly done. One nail at the top is the same length as it was, and hinges the panel. The wood lies flat,
and when pushed is held in place by the remaining shorter nails. But a man who knows of it can easily pull it away and slip
it up, giving access to the hole once more like this …’ He put his hand on it and rocked it gently, and with a quiet squeak
the wood moved to one side, still held by the one nail. ‘Someone knew of this work and levered the wood away, then filed down
three of the nails so that they would grip but still be easy to remove. A rather ingenious means of gaining access to the
peg’s hole.’

‘You seem thoughtful.’

‘I am. This work must have taken some time. And it must have been done by a man who had a good knowledge of the way the shutter
was patched.’

‘Perhaps the pederast arrived here one evening and learned that his access was blocked, and so he performed this work to
make it easier to gain entry?’ Sir Peregrine suggested.

‘You think he could have taken a lever to this, then filed the nails and hammered the first one back in again without waking
the household?’ Baldwin smiled. ‘No, this was planned and executed with skill. And the man must have come here when the house
was empty.’

‘You mean he heard of a time when all would be out of the house and came here to do this then? It would have been a brave
thing to do.’

‘Scarcely,’ Baldwin said coolly. He replaced the block of wood on the panels of the shutter and pushed it. The nails soon
bit into the shutter and held the block in place, apparently firmly. ‘Yesterday was Monday; the day before was the Sabbath.
I fear someone planned to come here and kill him on Sunday. A dreadful crime to contemplate on a holy day.’

‘Or any other.’

‘True … Daniel mentioned a man who’d caught this nocturnal visitor, did he not? Reginald Gylla, wasn’t it?’

He strode round the house with his head lowered in thought. At the front door, he stopped and called to Daniel’s maidservant.
‘Yesterday your master spoke of a man – Reginald Gylla? Do you know where he lives?’

The woman nodded and gave directions to a house up near the Priory of St Nicholas.

‘Good. And now we should enjoy some refreshment – is there a tavern nearby?’

‘Yes, sir. Left up the street.’

‘And who would know most of this stranger who enters houses at night?’ Baldwin pressed her. ‘Estmund Webber.’

She blanched and looked about her. Then, ‘Ask old Saul at the tavern. He’ll be there at this time of day, and he can tell
you all you need to know. You ask him.’

He should have realized the depth of the mire into which Jordan would drag him, but Reginald was too content to be able to
sleep with a roof over his head, to feel his belly filled once more, and to know that he didn’t have to worry about starving
again, not for a while.

On his way to the market for a treat for his wife, he recalled those days.

They had changed direction soon after the sale of the pardoners’ goods, and almost immediately Jordan started looking for
a place to rent. Soon he was the proud master of a small brothel, and that one grew into a trio, one in Exeter near the East
Gate, one just outside the walls at the South Gate, in case the city grew more censorious about such activities, and a third
in Topsham, to catch all the sailors. Reg hadn’t wanted any part of the businesses, but Jordan wanted a friend, a man he could
trust, to help him. Reg had little choice unless he wanted to upset Jordan, and no man with sense would want to upset Jordan.
So no, he had remained quiet, and helped. He had invested in the venture, and when the profits began to flow, he had taken
that money and used it to buy small loads on a ship that traded between Bordeaux and Dartmouth. Soon he was building a profitable
business.

Jordan had more ideas. As the whores began to bring in more money, he started to look for new schemes to increase his wealth.
He scorned legitimate business, because the profits were lower and the risks higher, so he said. The only risk in prostitution
was that another man might persuade one of his women to leave him for another pander, but if that was the case, Jordan would
threaten the man and scare him off. If he couldn’t, he’d destroy the fellow. And often the woman too. He had no time for women
who were disloyal to him. Or men.

The memory of the night before Daniel had attacked poor old Ham came back to Reg and he felt sickened once more.

Once Mick had been a man whom Jordan had trusted. It was that which had made Jordan’s rage so extreme, probably. He lost all
his inhibitions when he was confronted with betrayal, and would seek to destroy any man who stood in his path. That, for the
man who was betraying him by taking his wife for a tumble, was a source of terror. If Jordan ever came to hear of Reg’s infidelity
– and Mazeline’s, of course – he would tear them limb from limb in his blind fury. There would be no holding him back.

‘Hello, Reg.’

The sound of Jordan’s voice made Reg’s heart leap so violently, he felt sure it must burst from his body. ‘Sweet Mother of
God …’

‘Friend, I can only say thank you, but if there is ever a favour you need from me – well, let me know,’ Jordan said. ‘And
for now, here’s a token.’

He thrust a purse into Reg’s shaking hands, and then strode away in a hurry. Reg gripped the bag, staring dumbfounded, and
only when Jordan had disappeared from view in the crowds did he untie the thongs at the neck and stare in at the coins that
shifted and moved with a merry tinkling ring as his entire body shook with reaction.

The tavern at the end of Daniel’s alley was called the Black Hog, and Sir Peregrine hesitated at the door.

‘You really wish to enter here?’

‘Sir Peregrine, believe me, you will go into worse places than this as Coroner,’ Baldwin chuckled, and ducked under the lintel.
To see bold, political Sir Peregrine so anxious made him want to laugh.

It was not so bad as some of the rougher alehouses at the north-western corner of the city. Until recently the Franciscans
had lived there in their little convent, but the insanitary conditions were not conducive to prayer, and when several friars
had died they petitioned to acquire another block of land. Now, although their church remained, the only other recognizable
feature from the convent days was the huge open midden that flooded the roadway in front of the church. Baldwin knew several
of the alehouses along that way, because they were particularly useful when he was seeking a man who was inured to a life
of felony.

Now, however, he was looking for a man who would appear more respectable, if the maid’s whispered description was anything
to go by. Soon Baldwin spotted him: a burly figure sitting at a table with a large pot before him and the contented expression
of a man who was already much of the way down his first quart of the day.

‘Master Saul?’

‘Aye? Oh. Keeper.’

‘You know me?’

‘Seen you about the place, Sir Knight. Who doesn’t recognize you? What do you want from me? My pigs are—’

‘This is nothing to do with your pigs, master. A man was murdered last night and we are attempting to learn why.’

Saul glanced from one to the other. ‘So you’re looking into Daniel’s murder?’

Sir Peregrine peered at him closely. ‘You know of this?’

‘We don’t have that many murders of sergeants even in this street, sir,’ Saul said simply. ‘People have been gossiping about
his murder all morning.’

‘And who do the people blame?’

‘There are many who had reason to want to see him suffer. Daniel was a dedicated sergeant.’

‘Do you obey the law?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you like him?’

‘For my part, yes. Not everyone did, though.’

‘Such as?’

‘Henry Adyn, for example. He was dreadfully wounded by the sergeant. Daniel hit him with a pickaxe and took away half his
chest. He’s still half crippled. Works as a carter.’

‘Where is he to be found?’

‘Usually in here, but today he’s not around. I think he has a place down just off Pruste Street.’

‘In the meantime, have you heard of a man who enters bedrooms and studies the children in their sleep?’

Saul let out a guffaw and slapped his thigh. ‘Who hasn’t? Everyone knows about Est, poor soul.’

‘Est again?’ Sir Peregrine asked, drawing up a stool and sitting opposite him. ‘He’s the man we need to know about. Tell me:
who is this Est?’

John took Robert with him when he went to visit the cathedral close. At the Ercenesk Gate they strode past the grinning gatekeeper
with their heads held low in humility, ignoring the sniggers and ribald comments of the porter and a couple of lay servants.
Instead, fingering their crosses, John and Robert made their way down the track worn in the grass that led over the cemetery
towards the great west door of the cathedral.