The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) (8 page)

He had the look of a man who was used to violence, although perhaps not in the way that some men would resort to weapons at
the first opportunity. No, she thought that this was a man who took it for granted that his words carried weight and authority.

‘Well, sergeant? Have you any explanation as to why we should protect you from inevitable ruin?’

‘You mean old Ham? He shouldn’t have pulled a dagger,’ Daniel said flatly.

‘Does every man deserve death for possessing a dagger?’

Cecily was unprepared for the second man’s appearance. He stepped inside with an armed servant, glancing about him quickly
as though expecting an assassin to strike. She had heard her father say that this was the Keeper from Crediton, that he was
a dangerous man to cross. Perhaps so, but he was attractive, too, even if he was terribly old. She rather liked the way that
the beard which followed his jaw had grown so
peppered with grey, and his eyes, when they found her, were kindly, crinkled at the corners. They looked like eyes which would
smile all too easily. The only disquieting aspect of his appearance was the way in which he moved, looking about him sharply
before stepping in, and then standing alert while his servant leaned back against the wall in a negligent manner, and appeared
to study his fingernails.

‘He deserves the consequences if he pulls it against an officer of the King,’ Daniel said.

‘Quite true, unless the officer concerned is himself breaking the law,’ Baldwin observed.

‘I was there to stop a fight, that’s all. I acted as I should. I suppose I could have stopped him … but what can a man
do when some fool tries to stab him? What would you have done?’

‘Cut off his arm,’ Sir Peregrine said coolly. ‘But not his head.’

‘He tried to stab me. There were witnesses.’

Baldwin glanced at Cecily again, and she saw the coldness in his eyes. There was a piercing quality to them that she wasn’t
sure she liked. Then she saw them narrow in a gentle smile again. ‘Any man who can give life to such a pretty child cannot
be all bad.’ He turned from her again, and Cecily saw how the smile fled his face. ‘But a man who slaughters a drunkard unnecessarily
has evil within him. I trust you will not seek to hurt any more men, sergeant, for next time we shall see you arrested.’

‘Aye. I am a sergeant. I can be condemned when I am attacked,’ Daniel said coldly. ‘Yet who will protect me?’

‘You seem admirably competent at defence,’ Sir Peregrine murmured.

‘What could cause you fear?’ Baldwin asked.

Cecily said, ‘The man who comes at night.’

Sir Peregrine glanced down at her as though surprised that a child should speak in his presence. Baldwin, though, grinned
at her kindly, with an inviting nod. ‘Who do you mean? A friend of your father’s?’

Cecily suddenly realized that she might have spoken too soon, and she looked to her father. To her surprise, he appeared less
angry, almost relieved. He too nodded to her. ‘You tell them.’

‘There is a man who comes at night when everyone is asleep. He comes into our houses and looks at us all.’

Sir Peregrine smiled broadly. ‘A ghost, then? You’ve been having mares, child.’

Baldwin was about to chuckle when he caught sight of Daniel’s face. ‘Is this true, man?’

‘He breaks in every so often. Not every night, but now and again.’

‘Has he been seen?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.

‘I’ve seen him, so’s Cecily here. If you want more, speak to anyone round here. Several of us have caught him in our homes,
Reginald Gylla for one. It’s not only me.’

‘Why does he break in?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Is he a common draw-latch, or is there some other reason?’

Daniel looked over at his daughter, and this time there was no anger in his expression. She could see what looked oddly like
a tear in the corner of his eye. ‘Come here, child.’ Putting his arm about her, he continued: ‘There is a story that he’s
a man who lost his own family years ago in the famine: Estmund Webber. There are so many … he just covets the kids.’

‘He intends no harm, then?’ Peregrine said.

‘Not yet,’ Daniel said. ‘But a man who walks abroad at night and enters your house is enough of a cause for fear, isn’t he?’

Baldwin’s eyes went from her father to Cecily’s own face as
he agreed. ‘It is never good to learn that a man can break into your home with impunity. Not when you have children to protect.
Tell me, though. Do you have no locks, no bars? How does he enter?’

‘I have bars on the shutters and doors, but there is one which is old and wooden. I’ll show you.’

He rose, setting Cecily down on her feet, then led the way out through the rear door to the small chamber where his children
slept. ‘Look!’ he said, and strode to the barred window at the back of the room. ‘He climbs in here.’

‘What of the shutter?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Do you not lock that if you fear an intruder?’

‘Certainly we do. The shutter used to be a simple dropping board, with a thong to latch it closed, but the man was opening
it. He must have used a long knife to push up the bar.’

‘I saw it!’ Cecily squeaked. ‘A big long dagger, it was.’

‘Aye, well,’ Daniel confirmed. ‘So I had my men put up these new ones instead.’

He demonstrated the newer hinged shutters, pulling them closed. They were built of strong wood and a large metal bracket was
set in each. When the shutters were drawn closed, a beam of heavy wood, hinged at one end, could be turned up and over to
drop through the brackets. A peg set into the wood completed the lock by stopping the beam from rising again once it had fallen
to rest in the metal fixings. ‘This should deter any robbers, but it didn’t stop this fellow,’ he said.

‘How did he get in?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Look for yourself.’

Baldwin went to the window, removed the peg and lifted the bar from the brackets. Pushing the shutters open, he sprang out
lightly, then pushed the shutters closed once more. ‘Edgar, put the bar across again.’

His servant roused himself sufficiently to obey, and they all waited, listening to the scrabbling and scraping as Baldwin
tried to open the shutters on his own. Soon they saw a blade appear between the two edges. It lifted and moved, and the beam
shifted slightly, rising to hit the peg, but then it fell.

In answer to his master’s enquiry, Edgar spoke. ‘No. That way, it’d take all night to move the beam an inch, Sir Baldwin.’

There was a muffled curse, and then, ‘Edgar, open the shutters again. And bring a light. A candle will do.’ When his servant
obeyed, Baldwin was still outside, this time peering at the wood with interest. He took the candle and held it on one side
of each shutter in turn while he peered at the other side, looking for cracks and weaknesses. ‘I see. Lock them again.’

Edgar did so, smiling at Cecily as though this was all a normal part of his duties, and waited. A few moments later there
was a scratching noise, and then the wooden peg fell from its hole and dangled at the end of its restraining string. Only
a short time later the bar jerked a little and lifted. It rose until it was free of the bracket, and the shutter opened.

‘A simple task,’ Baldwin said. ‘You need a better craftsman to build your shutters in future.’

Daniel gave grudging acknowledgement. ‘I didn’t expect you to find it so swiftly.’

‘How is it done?’ Sir Peregrine asked with interest.

‘There is a long splinter in one plank,’ Baldwin explained. ‘When you prise it to one side, it reveals where the carpenter’s
auger pierced the timbers to make the hole for the peg. Slide a knife’s point into that little hole, and you push out the
peg. Once that’s done, all you need do is lift the bar. Very easy. So!’ he concluded, clapping his hands with decision. ‘Replace
that shutter, or cover the splinter with a fresh piece of timber, and the draw-latch will be prevented from entering again.’

‘My thanks,’ Daniel said sarcastically. ‘And in the meantime, if he is still determined, what then?’

Sir Peregrine was able to answer that. ‘It is a man going about at night with a dagger and entering your property, my friend.
You know what you can do to him. Kill him.’

He was dead. Fitting that the man should have been granted the privilege of dying not only in the friary, but actually on
the Sabbath! That was a rare honour, and reflected the pride which John had felt in winning this man for the Order.

Not that the Bishop would want to see it that way, of course. And there could be some fighting about the way that the friary
had taken the man’s money already. Still, the money had been bequeathed before his death, and then passed over to the friary.
If the canons on the cathedral close wanted to impose new rules affecting everyone, it was only their own fault if people
sought means to evade the new costs. Why should the friary obey the cathedral? The latter demanded ancient rights and privileges
to be honoured by all, but then trampled on the rights of the newer Orders like John’s. The canons were only fools who segregated
themselves a little, when all was said and done. They had no real part to play in the new world.

John saw to the cleaning of the body, setting the limbs neatly before wrapping it in a spotless linen winding sheet. At last
he straightened up, wiping his hands dry after dipping them in a bowl of water, and then stood surveying his work. A little
while later he left Robert and two other friars to carry the man to the altar, and made his way to the private cell of the
Prior.

‘He is dead?’

Prior Guibert was a tall, thin, almost emaciated man whose cadaverous features and great height gave the impression of feebleness
of spirit, yet no one who had heard him preach could believe that he was about to expire from exhaustion or age. Although
he appeared ancient, Guibert still possessed the same mental focus which had led to his election as one of the
diffinitores
, the senior officers of the Friars Preacher who could decide all matters of discipline within the Order.

‘He is dead.’

Guibert smiled thinly, and wiped a hand over his bald pate, a gesture that invariably indicated that he was concentrating
hard. He brought his hand down over his forehead and held it a moment in front of his eyes as though the darkness could aid
his focus, and then slowly withdrew it.

John felt his heart swell to see his master’s face clear. The fine, bright blue-grey eyes gazed into the distance for a while
as though unaware of John or the walls of the cell itself. In his face John could see only certainty. This was a man who knew
his position in the world and the importance of his role in it.

No, it was more than that. Guibert was entirely honest and decent. He had only ever sought to improve the priory to better
help the poor of the city. His integrity was beyond compare, his vision and intellect superior to all others.

Now he took a little breath and spoke quietly. ‘I feel sure that the honourable and worthy knight will be a fitting addition
to our little cemetery. He has devoted his life to the Church and his death and burial in our cloister mean that his soul
will be saved.’

John smiled and nodded. He was awed by the strength and purpose of this man. He always had been, ever since he first heard
of the way Guibert defended this same little convent
against the attack of the black-hearted devils of the cathedral.

‘Let us pray for the safe arrival of his soul in Heaven,’ said Guibert, and when he knelt, John could already feel the tears
forming in his eyes. Not for the dead man – he was already fading from his memory – but at the renewal of his admiration for
this wonderful man, the man who had caused the Bishop of Exeter to be excommunicated.

Guibert left John there in his cell, and John waited a while, praying happily. Later, leaving it, he saw Guibert again. He
was outside, and it was a slight surprise to John to see that he was talking to a merchant, that rather unpleasantly worldly
fellow, Master Jordan le Bolle. But he didn’t think much of it. He had too much to sort out with the funeral arrangements.

Agnes and Juliana were in the market for some little while, hunting down a bolt of cloth for a new dress for Juliana, and
when they returned Cecily was so thrilled by the sight of the striped ray material that she quite forgot to mention the visitors
at first.

‘What is this?’ Agnes asked when she saw the goblets on the table. ‘Have you been playing with your father’s best wine, child?’

Her tone was mocking, but Cecily knew that her aunt believed in strict discipline for children. ‘Oh, I forgot. The Coroner
and the Keeper of the Peace were here to speak to Father,’ she said quickly.

‘And what did they want?’ Juliana asked with a smile, loosening her wimple and shaking her hair free. It had been irritating
her all day. Her maid simply could not make her hair lie comfortably. She should throw the wench out and find a new one.

‘They wanted to speak about the man Father beat,’ Cecily
said, her head bowed over her little rag doll. ‘And then they wanted to hear about the man who breaks into the house. They
were very cross at first, but they said that they understood how angry Father must be to find a stranger in our solar, so
they said he could kill the man if he came again.’

Juliana’s face darkened. ‘You are making this up, child, aren’t you? What would they want to hear about our troubles for?’

‘I’m not!’ Cecily retorted with spirit. ‘They said that if there was a man in the house, Father could kill him. It’s the law,
they said.’

‘Cecily, go and play outside for a while,’ Agnes said soothingly. ‘I want to speak to your mother.’

When Cecily was gone, she sat on a bench. ‘Are you very troubled about this affair? The drunk outside the tavern?’

Juliana avoided her eye. ‘It was a shameful thing to do. Ham was no threat to anyone.’

‘He had already stabbed one man.’

‘That was an accident. I am sure he would have given Daniel the knife if Daniel had asked for it. But he didn’t. He rushed
in and killed the fellow. The poor man had his head crushed.’

‘Your husband was always too prone to violence.’

‘He was not! He was ever a kindly man to me and the children!’ Juliana declared tartly. ‘But he has changed in the last few
months. You must have noticed, sister!’

‘Not I! But then in the last months I have seen less of him.’

‘He did not want you to go, but you wouldn’t give up that other, would you?’

‘And why should I?’

‘That, and the pressure of his work …’ Juliana said unkindly. She felt no need to support her sister if Agnes was going
to insult her husband.

Agnes looked away uncomfortably.

Juliana said no more. There was no need. They both knew Daniel had grown much more edgy when he first heard that Agnes had
been visited by Jordan le Bolle. Daniel had said that Jordan was never to be allowed into his house again; Agnes was sure
that Daniel simply hated the idea of adultery, and wouldn’t have Jordan in the place in case he took Agnes to her bed.

What of it if he did? She was not Daniel’s woman, even if she lived under his roof! The idea that her
younger
sister’s husband should dictate to her whom she could or could not see drove her to seek to seduce Jordan sooner than she
otherwise might have. She told Daniel that his command was outrageous, and moved out into a smaller house within a few days.
It was expensive, but she had some money saved, and Jordan offered to help, so she soon learned that a house was cheap enough
for a woman who was in love, and loved by a strong man.

Daniel had no right to prevent her seeing whomsoever she wanted. She was about to state this when she noticed how exhausted
her sister appeared.

Juliana had closed her eyes. She needed to rest them; they felt sore and rough from lack of sleep. If she sat still for a
moment with her eyes closed like this, she knew that she must fall asleep and topple over, but it was so pleasing, so
good
to sit with them shut, if only for a few moments. She was so tired, she almost mentioned the threat made to them by Agnes’s
lover, but luckily she managed to control herself and didn’t say anything. If she told Agnes that her man had said he would
kill Juliana and all her family, Agnes would only think she was making it up and call her a liar. It would throw her more
completely into Jordan’s arms, and that was one thing Juliana was determined to avoid.

In the end she said, ‘It must be this man who enters our house at night. That is why he is so unsettled.’

‘Does he not worry you as well, Juliana?’

Juliana looked at her. ‘If it is still only Est, we have no need to worry about the poor fellow. Not really.’

‘Who else could it be, though?’ Agnes asked. When she glanced at her sister, she was surprised to see a look of fear in her
eyes, as though Juliana was determined not to speak. Almost as though she didn’t trust Agnes.

Jordan le Bolle left the cathedral close with a sense that all was going well.

He had seen Daniel earlier, and the man had looked distraught. Quite devastated, as though his world was collapsing about
him. He hadn’t seen Jordan, which was probably no bad thing. If he’d flown off the handle and made rash accusations, it could
have been difficult. As it was, Jordan could enjoy his suffering. Especially now, since he’d learned of a fresh shipment of
lead. He already had a large store of it, and now he would be able to sell more to the cathedral for their rebuilding.

It was an easy way to make money. Stocks of lead, tin, iron and glass were being brought here from all over the country. Many
ships arrived at the quay, and when the sailors went to the brothels intelligent women could sometimes learn what cargo was
aboard. Occasionally those sailors could be bribed, too, but that was risky. Jordan had his own men at the docks, and usually
it was a simple task to find the parcels or boxes which contained the most important goods, and substitute something else.
Then he could sell the stolen items for a profit. Simple, effective and lucrative.

There was a better way to ensure a good profit, though, and that was to have a spy who could warn Jordan which ships were
worth looking over. And that was why he was here today, to meet with his most profitable spy. It meant he could tell which
were the best cargoes to be taken, which packages and bales deserved investigation without the need to bribe some unknown
sailor, constantly running the risk that he might be a fool who would run to the ship’s master to warn him.

Daniel had taken to hanging about the quayside recently. Jordan was unpleasantly certain that the man had learned something.
Well, he had done all he could some days ago: he’d put the fear of God into Daniel’s wife, hopefully, which would mean that
there was another voice to persuade the sergeant to leave Jordan alone. If Daniel chose to ignore all the good advice he was
receiving, that was his problem, not Jordan’s.

He saw Peter up at the entrance to the cathedral and fitted a warm smile to his face.

It was a never-ending source of amazement to him that this place, supposedly full of the most religious men in the land, could
in fact be filled with men whose sole interest was to make money for themselves. It was dressed up differently, of course.
They protested that it was money to be used to protect others, that it would go to saving souls, and all that nonsense, but
they were fooling nobody. At least there were a few honest enough to privately admit that they wanted the money for themselves.

‘My son.’ Peter smiled and held out his hand.

Jordan took it. ‘Father. It is most pleasant to see you again.’

Peter de la Fosse, a tall young canon with a tonsure that was in desperate need of renewal, hurriedly drew Jordan into the
cathedral and behind one of the massive pillars supporting the roof. ‘Jordan, there’s another load just arrived.’ He slipped
a small parchment into Jordan’s hand.

‘Good. I’ll have my fellows go and meet it.’

Peter nodded, but his face even here in the gloom of the aisle seemed more pale than usual.

‘What is it?’ Jordan asked. He knew the signs. The man was scared again, and that meant his price would soon go up.

‘I am fearful that our actions may be discovered soon. What if someone should tell the Dean that I’ve been talking to you
and that we’re collecting so much money? Someone may see, and—’

‘Canon, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone know about you. All you have to worry about is making sure that I remain happy with
your work. Don’t forget that. Now, there is something I wanted to suggest to you today.’

Baldwin was feeling the effects of his recent wound. His breath was short as they marched up from the sergeant’s house and
along the high street. He was on his way to the inn where he was staying with his wife, Sir Peregrine striding along at some
speed as usual by his side, and Edgar padding along quietly behind them both like a great cat.

It was how Baldwin had thought of him when he had first seen Edgar whole and well. He had a certain feline grace and economy
of movement that was much like the prized cats in bestiaries: lions and tigers. Much like them, Edgar could move with an apparent
laziness that belied his strength and power, but when he was roused he was as fierce as any of the big cats. A man who irked
him or caused him to stir would soon realize his mistake.

Edgar had been with him in the hell-hole of Acre, the last Crusader foothold in the Holy Land. Baldwin had gone there a young,
callow fellow, determined to prove himself. He was the son of a knight, but being the second son would have no inheritance.
Rather than see himself cast into the Church as a
second-rate priest, or perhaps a clerk spending his days copying parchments until his eyes were useless, he chose to travel
on pilgrimage to the lands over the seas and fight to protect God’s soil. He knew, as did his companions on the journey, that
they couldn’t fail. After all, they were English men, the same who had conquered the Scots and the Welsh, beaten the Irish
to submission, and kept the French King from their territories. And this was God’s own land. He would not see the land of
Christ’s birth wrested from His own people.

Acre had destroyed the faith of many. The kingdom of Jerusalem was lost when Acre fell, and the consequences were far-reaching.
Men throughout Christendom, appalled, felt sure that the end of the world was at hand, and men foretold famine, war and plagues.