The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) (6 page)

‘Well? What has happened today?’

‘More thefts from the cathedral, but when I try to pin it on that slippery bastard, there’s nothing I can do about it. He
wasn’t there, he was playing knuckles at his house, he had witnesses to prove he was never near the cathedral … he makes
me
puke
! Always the first with the quick answer, always so sure of himself …’

‘Can you not accept you could be wrong? Agnes knows him and says he is a very pleasant man, and she—’

‘Tell her I’ll not have him in this house!’

‘Husband? I don’t—’

‘Never. I don’t care if Agnes is a friend of his. If she wants to entertain him, she can do so in her own house, not here.’

‘You would throw her from our home? Where would she live?’

There was a moment’s silence. ‘I would rent her a place somewhere. A decent little house.’

‘Why?’ Juliana’s voice was sharp now. Cecily was sure that she had turned her head to peer at her husband from the corner
of her eye, as though her right ear was more reliable than the other. ‘Husband, why should you seek to exclude my sister from
our home?’

‘It’s not her, woman! It’s
him
! He’s a murderer and a thief! I’m sure of it.’

‘You have been for many years – what of it? You have never shown what he has done or how.’

‘Because—’ Daniel roared, and then his voice dropped as though he was too weary to continue this argument. ‘Because, wife,
he threatened me today. He said if I didn’t leave him to continue his business, he would murder all of us: you, me, the children,
all of us. I won’t have him in the house, because he could set a trap for us if he knew the place too well. Now do you understand
why I don’t want him here? Do you think I’d put you and the others at risk?’

The knock at his door stirred Reginald, and he felt his face wreathe itself in a smile of delight. God’s ballocks, he’d thought
she’d changed her mind! The vixen was here after all. Well, it was a relief. She had said her husband was going to be out
for the night, so when she didn’t turn up Reg had assumed she was still angry with him because of the other evening. Well,
he should have realized that the woman had too much of a tickle in her tail not to want him to scratch it!

His bottler had been sent away, and the other servants were in the main hall. Only a very few people knew of this other door
at the back of the house, and he hurried to it before the quiet knock should disturb his son. The last thing he needed was
for the lad to overhear them together, and then ask his mother what Father was doing … If Sabina ever got to hear of his
nocturnal activities when she was away, all hell would break loose, and if it did, Reg didn’t want to be in the same city,
let alone the same house.

It was with a feeling of satisfaction that he reached for the latch and opened the door, only to find that it was not his
lover outside.

Instead her husband stood there smiling at him.

Henry winced as he shifted in his seat. The great gouge in his breast and shoulder where Daniel’s pickaxe had torn through
him was always painful. Whether it was a sharp, stabbing sensation as when the wound had been inflicted, or had sunk to a
dull throbbing, it was always there, and always in his mind.

Before that day, he’d been a fit, healthy man. Given a little money, he could have found a woman and married, maybe. No chance
of that now, though. Daniel had robbed him of his future. All he was was a carter. A lonely, bitter carter.

The strange thing was, he hadn’t really known Estmund that well beforehand. Est had been one of the men Henry had known about
the city, but they weren’t close friends or anything. Yet Henry was a generous-hearted man, and when Estmund had been so distraught
he had wanted to help him.

It was that awful day when the cathedral decided that Emma had committed a mortal sin by killing herself after their child
had died. Poor little Cissy. She had been so tiny when they buried her in her pit. Unbaptized, she was not eligible for a
place in the graveyard, and Henry still thought it was that, more than her death alone, which had made Emma so disturbed and
grief-stricken. To think that even when she died she would not be with her child in Heaven had been the final blow. If God
wouldn’t have her Cissy, she wanted no part of His Heaven.

God! But when Est found her, that was a terrible day. For all that he was still suffering, Henry couldn’t feel regret for
helping him. The man had lost daughter and wife, and then to learn that he was not permitted to bury Emma in the cemetery
was enough to unhinge his mind.

It was good that Est seemed to trust him. Est was not the kind of man to get close to anyone, but he accepted Henry’s companionship.
Before that dreadful day, when Henry won his wound trying to help Est, they would rarely speak. Few people did during the
famine. After that day they sat together in companionable silence, Est staring into the distance while Henry lay on his bed,
Est occasionally wiping his brow with a cool cloth. Some women from the street had come to help, and Henry was gradually nursed
back from the brink of death.

The silence was good for a while, but both needed to talk. Est started to tell Henry of his life, of his past and his shattered
hopes. To Henry, that meant they were both recovering. When Est was silent, Henry would talk until he grew too tired, and
then Est would wipe his sweating face again, speaking of his love for his dead Emma and Cissy. There were few enough men who
would bother to try to share their feelings, Henry thought later, but when the whole city was starving, when the likelihood
of their dying in a short while was so high, there was little to stop them unburdening themselves.

No, Henry had hardly known Est before Emma’s death, but there was something in Estmund that had appealed to him: a kindliness
and generosity of spirit. That was why he had wanted to help him. And perhaps too it was the damage wrought on Henry in his
attempt to help Est that had spurred Estmund to live on. He had a responsibility again, someone to look after.

Just as Henry had too. He felt that he had a reciprocal responsibility for Estmund.

Reginald stared. ‘Look, Jordan, I don’t know how to get hold of a man to do something like that, and I’m not sure I’d want
to, even if I could. It’s a serious—’

‘Don’t say “affair”,’ Jordan le Bolle said. ‘This is just business, after all. We have to stop this man.’

He was tall, with the calm assurance of a man who knew that he would get his way. That was a mark of his position and control:
he always got what he wanted. His eyes were calm and unworried. There was never any need for him to be anxious, after all.
There was no one in the city whom he need fear.

Such was not Reg’s own state of mind at that moment. Reg was filled with an overwhelming dread. At any moment, he felt sure,
the other person who used that door would knock and enter, ready to throw herself into Reg’s arms or onto his bed. It was
truly appalling. Reg knew that his partner was perfectly capable of murdering people – it had been necessary when they had
first got to know each other, and the years had not altered the reality of their relationship.

‘Killing him would not be easy, Jordie,’ Reg said feebly. He didn’t hold out much hope for an argument of that nature. Jordan
was too adept at debating his position. Reg had known that from the first moment.

‘Any man will fall when he’s hit hard enough in the right place.’

‘That’s easy for you to say. You’ve had practice.’

Jordan smiled. ‘And we’ve both benefited, haven’t we?’

Reg hated to see that easy grin. It was as though Jordie didn’t care about any other lives. Sometimes Reg wondered whether
he’d even miss Reg. Perhaps he’d shed a couple of
tears, but there was no guarantee that they’d be genuine. Then he caught sight of the expression in Jordan’s eyes.

‘We’ve lived this long without having to kill him, Jordie. Why risk everything now?’ His thin smile felt more like a grimace.

Jordan le Bolle ignored the interruption. ‘Yes, we’ve both benefited. I’ve taken many risks to bring in our profits, Reg.
Now it’s time you helped. I think Daniel is getting too close to me. Far too close. There’s a risk that soon he’ll throw caution
to the winds and try to take us on properly. And you know what that would mean, don’t you? If he comes in and stops our work,
it’ll be the end of our easy life. The end of all this,’ he said, waving a hand nonchalantly at the chamber, encompassing
the hall, the wine, the food …

But it wasn’t only that. Reg knew he was including everything, the chamber in which he slept, the bed where Michael lay sleeping
… Michael himself, even. Reg felt a cold, clammy sensation about his breast, as though his own destiny was pressing a
firm hand over his heart. His blood was racing already; this additional feeling was enough to make him feel slightly sick.

‘Jordie, I don’t see why we have to kill him now. It’s just a—’

‘Because I have warned him. I told him, Reg. I said that if he didn’t leave me alone, I would destroy him. I said I would
kill his children and his wife and him.’

‘All of them?’

‘He even told his wife. Can you imagine that?’ Jordan frowned. ‘I wouldn’t tell my bitch about business like that. Why would
he have told her?’

‘Jordan, there’s no need to kill them. We’re all right still. There’s no need to hurt any of them. Maybe we can leave things
as they are.’

‘If we do nothing, Reg, all this would be at risk. Consider that.’ Jordan stood and eyed him, but this time it was not the
friendly look of an old comrade and partner, it was the cold, intimidating stare which Reg had seen him use on others when
he was about to strike. ‘All our profits from the cathedral, all the money from the whores, it could all be at risk. Think
of that; consider it well. We must act.’

John returned to the friary as night drew in, and quietly made his way to his cell, where he sat on the little stool at the
table under his window. The window was too high in the wall and too small to see anything, even a glimpse of the sky. No distractions,
that was the founding principle of his Order, and he was more than pleased with it. The lack of property of any sort, the
lack of interruptions, these were essential. It meant that he could spend his time praying and trying to help others to see
how they themselves might add to the glory of God.

Not a young man any more, at some fifty years or so, John had become a friar as soon as he had felt the power of God’s word,
and he flattered himself that it was in no small measure a reflection of his own efforts that the Order was so widely accepted
here in Exeter. He had persuaded people to give their money to the house; he’d managed to convince others that if they wanted
to win eternal life, especially if they had been wealthy in this one, they would have to aid the Order in its work. For if
a man did nothing to assist the poor and the needy, how could he hope to win rewards in Heaven?

The only means of saving themselves was to give … to the fullest extent of their power. They must give up all, and make
it over to the Dominicans. Not that the Dominicans owned property or treasure, but they required money to continue
their work. And John had always been one of the men most competent at acquiring new gifts.

He had known from the beginning that his duty was to help as many men as possible to see that their route to personal salvation
lay through the offices of the Dominicans. And to that end, he had sought out the rich and elderly without issue. Men with
families would naturally wish to ensure that their children were not impoverished, but those with none … well, it made
sense for them to look to the benefit of the Dominicans.

That was why John was the most efficient fundraiser in the priory. It was for that reason that Sir William de Hatherleigh
was even now lying on a palliasse in a cell not far away. It was a measure of John’s skills at persuasion that Sir William
was determined to remain here, not only now while he prepared for death, but later, when he was dead.

And this to John seemed an ideal situation. Sir William was one of the wealthiest men in the city. Holding his funeral and
burying him here in the friary would produce welcome funds.

Of course there were obstacles: the ridiculous monopoly on burials which the cathedral insisted upon upholding, for example,
but John was sure that there would be ways round that. After all, the Bishop would hardly want another fight with the Order.
On the last occasion, it had taken Bishop Walter four or five years to calm the situation down again. John knew that. And
he knew that this particular battle was one he could – he must – win.

He was looking forward to it with relish.

Daniel was exhausted that evening. The efforts of his day had included a sharp ride over to Bishop’s Clyst with two sergeants
to try to help a posse catch two felons, the remainder of the morning in his chamber with two clerks trying to make sense
of old records and attempting to twist them to the advantage of the city, and then another ride to the north, beyond the Duryard,
to see whether he could use his good offices to mediate between two bickering landlords. He was back in time for a fight outside
a tavern, and here his patience finally ran out.

It was old Ham atte Moor again. He’d drunk far too much as usual, and then started picking fights with everyone. Knocked down
the innkeeper, then tried to do the same to the sergeants when they arrived. By the time Daniel got there, he’d managed to
nick one of the officers with his knife, and there was a small but respectful crowd of men all about him, while women stood
outside the ring, egging them on.

‘What’s going on here?’ Daniel demanded as he arrived on the scene.

It was the last thing he needed, truth be told. The events of the day had taken their toll, and now he was tired, desiring
only a good pot of wine and some meats before going off to his bed. He had no wish to be stuck here soothing an old drunk
who’d taken more than he should again.

‘This old fool wanted more to drink, but you know what he’s like,’ the innkeeper said, holding a damp cloth to his temple.
‘I told him to bugger off, and he clobbered me, the git. He’s never getting served in here again, that I’ll swear! I won’t
have him in my hall again. If he tries it, I’ll have the sod served as he deserves!’

‘Shut up!’ Daniel snapped. ‘Ham, you finished? Because in God’s name, if you want more trouble, I’ll be happy to give it to
you.’

Ham was wild-eyed at the best of times. He’d always liked his drink, but recently he’d taken to starting on strong ale in
the morning and continuing with it all day. It was too easy for a man with little occupation. Ham was a freeman who had worked
as ostler in an inn but he had been fortunate enough to be granted a sum of money on the death of his master a year ago. With
no wife, for she’d died some while before, he had no one to spend his money on but himself, and for an old man with few friends
or interests, that meant wine and ale. There was nothing else for him.

This was not the first fight Daniel had witnessed. Ham had been before the city’s courts often enough charged with breaking
the King’s Peace, and Daniel himself had been responsible for bringing him in on several occasions. Usually, it was a case
of the poor old fool getting too drunk to be able to conduct himself sensibly, for after all, most people quite liked him.
He was an amiable old devil when sober. The trouble was, when he had too much to drink, he could become a monster.

‘Put it down, Ham,’ Daniel said now.

Ham swore something – his speech was too indistinct to be comprehensible now he was drunk; it was bad enough when he was sober
since the day Peter of Ide had knocked out his front teeth a month and a half ago – and lunged. In his hand he had a long-bladed,
single-edged knife, and it swept past Daniel’s belly alarmingly quickly.

All Daniel’s frustration erupted. He lifted his iron-shod staff and swung it heavily. It cracked across Ham’s forearm with
a dry sound, like an ancient twig being snapped. Then, almost before he knew what he was doing, he had reversed the stave,
and brought it back smartly. While Ham’s face fractured from evil aggression into alarm and agony the iron tip was hurtling
back, and Daniel watched dispassionately, as though this was another man’s doing, as it crunched into Ham’s temple. He saw
the eruption of blood, the eyeball leaping out of its socket, the snap of the head upon its neck, and the sudden tottering
step to one side, as though Ham was considering jumping to safety a
moment too late. His broken forearm flailed in the air, the wrist and lower part wild and disjointed, and then the man fell,
his eyeball plopping onto his cheek a moment after his head hit the cobbled roadway.

That was when he started to scream, a shrill noise that spoke of excruciating pain and terror, like a horse with a broken
leg.

And while Daniel stood panting, appalled at what he had done, he gradually grew aware of the people in the crowd drawing away
from him, as men would from a felon caught in the act.