The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18) (24 page)

That was his opinion, and the opinion of all the others on the ship as it set sail, and there was nothing to alter their view as they passed the hazardous tongue of land that led into the Mediterranean. One of the sailors was an older man, with a wealth of experience, and he pointed out the sights, the places where the Moors had tried to launch invasions, and the places where the Christians had thrown them from their lands. When they passed a series of islands, he pointed out Cyprus, which Richard the Lionheart had taken when the the ruler, Isaac Ducas Comnenus, had tried to catch and ransom both King Richard and his sister. That rashness cost him dearly, because the wrathful King took the island by storm. There was nothing that a good English warrior couldn’t achieve.

And then – then they’d arrived at the hell that was Acre, the last Christian foothold in the Holy Land, and the mood of the warrior-pilgrims grew more thoughtful. Baldwin himself had not been scared at the sight. Not yet. He was still too foolish and inexperienced. So he stood at the forecastle of the ship and stared at the columns of foul black smoke rising from the devastated land and felt only pride that here he and the other English would show their mettle.

It was at Acre that Baldwin lost the foolishness of youth and became a man.

Looking at Paul, Baldwin saw himself again. In his mind’s eye he looked over the stinking, blackened corpses, their flesh desiccating in the awful heat, their fingers curling into claws, legs bending. Through the day, even when it was quiet, the sounds of creaking leather, the chinking of metal, could be heard as dead limbs tightened, pulling straps and mail into new
postures. It was like listening to the armies of hell preparing to attack.

No, he would not have wanted to see this fellow put through the same appalling experience. And yet there was already a horror in his eyes. ‘Was this the first dead man you have seen?’ Baldwin asked him gently.

‘No, sir. I have seen my father. He was stabbed too. It was a long time ago, though.’

‘Yet a memory like that will remain with you.’

‘Yes,’ Paul said, and his eyes glanced away from Baldwin as the old pain was awakened. ‘I found him, you see. It was during the famine, seven years ago, and some men entered the house to steal any food they could find. My father was there, and he tried to stop them, but one held him and the others … well, they beat him with cudgels, and then they stabbed him and left him there. I was lucky they didn’t kill me too. So when I saw that man lying in the chapel, it made me remember, and I think I panicked a bit.’

‘It is not surprising. A grown man may be shocked to discover a corpse where he had expected none,’ Baldwin said understandingly. ‘What did you see from outside?’

Paul shrugged. ‘The door was a bit open.’

‘Not wide, then?’

‘No. Only an inch or two of gap.’

‘What time of day was this?’

‘Curfew. It was quite dark.’

‘If it was that late, how did you see that the door was ajar?’

‘I don’t know. I could see, though.’ Paul frowned.

‘No matter. So you walked to the door? What then?’

‘I walked up to it, yes, and I …’ Paul suddenly had a vivid recollection. ‘Yes! I remember, there was a faint glow from inside. It outlined the door itself, and I went to it
wondering whether someone was in there holding a service – that was it!’

‘You pushed, then?’

‘Yes, but only gently. I wanted to see who was there. And as I pushed, I saw that there was a man on the floor …’

‘Did you notice whether there was a candle in front of you?’

‘I didn’t see one,’ Paul said with a glower of concentration. ‘No, I don’t think so. But there was something else … if a candle’s snuffed, or if it gets blown out by a door opening, there’s usually a smell of the smoke, yes? I don’t remember that at all. Although there might have been the smell of some tallow or something.’

‘Do you think that means that there
could
have been a candle alight, then?’ Baldwin pressed him.

The lad shrugged.

‘Very well. So you were standing in the doorway, and before you was the body. How was he lying?’

‘He was on his face. His boots were towards me. I could see the soles of them. They were all stained with mud and dirt.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘Face down, feet towards you. How were his legs? Were they straight, bent, together, apart? The same with his arms. And his head, how was that? Literally with his face down, or was it set to one side?’

‘I didn’t really look at his face that well. I was …’

‘I understand – but his legs, his arms?’

‘His legs were apart,’ Paul said, his eyes closed as he tried to remember. ‘And the left one was bent a bit, the right one straight. His feet were apart. His right arm was under him, I remember, but his left was beside his body, the palm up.’

Baldwin mused. The saddler could have marched in and been attacked by someone lying in wait, or someone could have been behind him and thrust the knife in his back as he
crossed the threshold, perhaps clapping a hand over his mouth to smother his cries as he did so. Without having seen the body as soon as it was discovered, Baldwin would only be guessing based upon the boy’s testimony.

‘You ran and fetched the porter, I think?’

‘Yes. I’d been locking up with Janekyn beforehand, and I ran back to him. I knew he wouldn’t have finished there yet, and he’s a good man to have at your side when you’re a bit – um – worried.’

‘I can imagine,’ Baldwin said soothingly.

‘He came back with me, and we hurried inside. It was so dark, we could hardly see a thing, and …’

‘Yet you saw well enough before,’ Baldwin pointed out sharply.

‘Yes, but it was darker by then. Maybe it was the failing light.’

Or a man had been there with a candle when you first walked in, but he had left by the time you returned, Baldwin thought.

Joel gingerly touched the swelling on his jaw and grimaced. That was Will, right enough. The vicious devil had given him this blow just as he was about to leave Joel’s house, slamming his bloody staff into his face as a goodbye gift. Good God alive! Joel had thought he was going to die at that point. The man had swung his weapon like a poleaxe, and Joel hadn’t been able to move for some minutes, the pain was so intense. And then he found he had a mouth full of blood. One of his back teeth had chipped, because when he felt about there with his tongue, it caught on a piece like a razor up there. He had to go to his workshop and fetch a file to round it off a little so he didn’t cut his tongue while eating.

Bloody William. He never even gave Joel a chance to talk.
Just in, bash, and out again. Bastard! He hadn’t changed much over the years.

Maud walked in just as he had set his file down, and she gazed at him with alarm. ‘What on earth have you done to yourself? You look awful, Joel.’

‘S’hank you, dear,’ he lisped. His bottom lip didn’t seem to want to work properly and he daren’t open his mouth too much in case it hurt.

‘What happened? Have you been robbed?’

Joel smiled lopsidedly. It was a constant fear of Maud’s, ever since a friend over in Baker’s Row was broken into some years ago. The thieves had entered over the wall to the yard, then got in by the rear door, ransacking the place, defecating on a chair, and generally ruining everything. And then, when the owners returned, they were attacked and beaten. The husband was so severely clubbed that he never fully regained the use of his right arm. They caught the villains and hanged them, but that didn’t help the poor fellows who had been so badly wounded.

‘No, maid. It’s not that.’

‘Then how did you do that?’ she demanded. She had approached him, and she stood before him, peering at his jaw. ‘Let me see … Keep still! If you jerk like that I’ll hurt you.’

‘Don’t be so damn silly, woman, you already bloody have!’

‘And none of that sort of language in my hall, Husband! Keep still, now, you’re worse than a baby!’

‘Woman, will you …
Will
you leave it!’

She ignored him, but started to roll up her sleeves and called to their maidservant. ‘Bring warm wine and water, some towels and a cup. Oh, and ask Vince to come in here to help me.’

‘Maid, I don’t need to have this done. I’ve got customers to speak to.’

‘Fat lot of good you’ll be,’ she said, peering with narrowed eyes at his wound, ‘with your face like this, and unable to pronounce the simplest words. Keep still!’

‘Woman, will you please …’

‘Oh, good. Vince, pass me a cloth soaked in the wine, would you? Now, Husband, who did this to you?’

‘I’ll not talk while you’re fooling around there, damn it. Ow!’

‘Don’t be so foolish. Now, who was it?’

‘Good God! All right, it was William.’

She stopped and withdrew from him, staring at his face. ‘William? Why on earth would he do this?’

‘Jesus! Vince, get out. Go on, go!’

Maud was so surprised that she didn’t argue, and Vince put the bowl down on the table beside her, then walked slowly from the room. He pulled the door shut behind him, and fully intended to leave the place, but … but didn’t. It was an intriguing mystery, this attack on his master, and which apprentice could resist a tale like this? It was more than he could endure, to walk away now and leave the question of why Master Joel’s old companion and friend had attacked him. Rather than scurry off to the workshop, he stayed, hand still on the latch and gradually, very gradually, his ear moved closer to the boards of the door itself, until his lobe actually touched the wood.

‘I don’t know why, Maud – the man’s unstable. He said something about being attacked, but how should I know anything about it? He’s mad; practically foaming at the mouth today.’

‘Why should he think it was you?’

‘I don’t know …
Ow
! Are you trying to kill me, Wife? What was that for?’

‘There’s something about him, isn’t there? What is it?’

‘Oh, not again! Look, if I tell you, it’s a secret. I don’t want anyone else hearing about it, all right?’

‘Very well.’

‘And I want you to stop dabbing at me with that damned cloth. Just leave me in peace! No! Take it away, or I won’t tell you. That’s better.’

‘I’ve stopped now.’

Joel’s voice suddenly lost its warmth and power. Vincent thought he sounded like a man who had been hung over the edge of a precipice, and he had seen the depths beckoning.

‘William was from Exeter originally. He left here many years ago after a crime. And he left to join the King because he knew full well that he’d be made to pay for that crime otherwise.’

‘Why didn’t you accuse him?’

‘
Because
, woman, I was there too! It was the murder of the Cathedral’s Chaunter – oh, nearly forty years ago. I was there, Henry was there, Will was there … we all were! We set upon the Chaunter as a mob.’

‘You helped murder him?’ she whispered.

He nodded glumly. ‘It seemed the best thing to do.’

‘What happened?’

‘We all stood in the Close and waited. After Matins, the Chaunter and his
familia
left the Cathedral and walked to his house. That was when we jumped him. He nearly escaped, because one man was brave enough to try to save him … he came haring up before and shouted that there was an ambush, but one of the Chaunter’s men thought he was a traitor, and struck him down instantly. And then we got to the Chaunter, and he fell.’

‘Was he so badly protected?’ she asked.

‘He thought he was safe. I heard later that someone had
told the Chaunter that there’d be an attack; the story was, the Bishop himself had heard of it and had placed men about the Close to protect him, so there was nothing to fear and the Chaunter believed the story. But it was a ruse. There was no one there to save him. The tale was a lie. So when we attacked, he was alone and defenceless, apart from a few weakly novices.’

‘And one man died trying to call out to him to save himself?’

‘Yes – poor Vincent. He was killed by Nicholas, who was one of the Chaunter’s most loyal defenders. Nicholas himself was struck down and dreadfully scarred, and he left the city soon afterwards. I always thought he was dead, but recently he’s been seen in the town again. He survived, and now he wears the Greyfriars’ garb. Nicholas must have thought Vincent was running up to attack his master; he never realised he had killed one of his own comrades.’

Vincent stood back from the door and moved away slowly, his heart pounding. If what he had heard was true, then the man who had killed his uncle was in the city again. A man called Nicholas.

A friar with a dreadful scar, he repeated to himself.

As he silently tiptoed away, back in the room, Maud was thoughtfully washing her man’s bruises again. ‘I don’t understand. Why should Joel think that you’d attack him because of that?’

‘Because afterwards, I had a great idea,’ Joel said. ‘I was sick of apprenticing just then. I had three more years to run on my contract, and I wanted to see the world, not live here. So when the King came to hear the case, I decided I’d go and tell him about the escape. All the men ran from the South Gate, which had been left open.’