The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18) (27 page)

‘Mistress, this is Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, the Keeper of the King’s Peace, and Bailiff Simon Puttock. They want to talk to you.’

‘Godspeed, madam,’ said Simon, walking around the maid and looking at Mabilla. ‘I am afraid that Sir Baldwin and I are here to speak to you about your husband’s death. The Dean of the Cathedral has asked us to come to Exeter and investigate the murder. We’re here to find his killer.’

Mabilla’s attention went from him to the other man, the knight. He looked more stern, but there was something else in his face. He had dark eyes and a little beard that followed the line of his jaw. There were flecks of white in it, and a little dusting of more at his temples. A fine scar ran down his face, and it caught slightly at his mouth, twisting it up ever so slightly, she saw, giving him a very faintly cynical expression. Yet there was that little something else flickering in his eyes, she thought: vulnerability.

‘We should like to hear what you can tell us about the day your husband died,’ he said, ‘but we also need to know anything else that might have a bearing. Did he have any enemies in the city? Was he involved in a legal dispute? Did he owe money? Anything at all may help us to find his murderer.’

‘Julia, please leave us, would you?’ Mabilla asked.

Caught off guard, her daughter nodded, and started to make
her way to the solar’s door, then suddenly she stopped. ‘No, Mother. If it’s to do with Father’s death, I want to be here.’

‘This is simply a discussion of matters which don’t affect you.’

‘You won’t be discussing my future husband, then?’

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin interrupted, ‘you should both be present. There could be something which is relevant, which one may not realise, but which both of you together may see more clearly.’ He motioned to a stool, and when Mabilla nodded her agreement, he seated himself on it, his sword clattering loudly on the stone flags. ‘Ladies, please … even if it seems entirely unlikely that something could have a bearing on Henry Saddler’s death, still tell us. It may help us to form an impression of the whole man, which could lead us to learn who killed him.’

‘Do you have his business records?’ Simon enquired. ‘Perhaps I could look through them.’

Mabilla ordered her maid to fetch wine, and then she rose from the table and walked into the small room which had served as Henry’s counting chamber. She had his key about her neck, and she opened the chest in there, bringing out his ledger. Returning to the hall, she passed it to Simon.

He opened it and began to peruse the figures. After the last few weeks with Andrew, he was more than capable of reading through the figures and seeing where there could have been any problems. He ran his finger down the numbers, the roman numerals slowly forming a pattern in his mind. ‘His saddles weren’t cheap!’

‘My husband was a very accomplished craftsman. He used only the finest materials, and only the wealthy would buy them,’ Mabilla said.

‘I can believe that,’ Simon said, his finger still running down the list.

‘Perhaps first,’ Baldwin said, facing Julia, ‘you should tell me about your fiancé. You are clearly worried about him.’ Baldwin sat very still and studied her.

She felt he was like an owl peering at a mouse across a field, knowing that there was no need to exert himself; the mouse would soon be his. The thought that he might look on her as mere prey made her hold her head a little more haughtily. She would not speak of her fiancé in front of this fellow. Udo was surely innocent of anything to do with her father. Why, only yesterday he had told her how highly he had esteemed Henry. The plain fact was, Udo was their salvation, and the idea that she should endanger that by discussing him with these two officers was unthinkable.

Mabilla didn’t feel the same. Julia could see it in her eyes when she glanced at her mother. She was preparing herself to speak of him. She was going to betray him. ‘Mother!’

‘Julia, please leave us. I have asked you to do so once already. You have said your part. Sir Baldwin, you said you would prefer my daughter to remain.
I
should prefer that she leave us. I have some information that I should like to share, but it is not for my daughter’s ears.’

‘I won’t go! You’ll betray him, won’t you?’

‘Julia!’ Mabilla blazed suddenly. ‘This is very hard for me. Very hard indeed. It’s a matter that doesn’t concern you, and I want to discuss it in privacy.
Leave the room now
!’

Julia stared at her defiantly, but gradually allowed her eyes to drop to the floor. ‘Very well,’ she muttered, and made for the doorway again, pausing briefly at Mabilla’s side to whisper, ‘Udo is innocent of this. You’ll only make him hate us, and then where will we be?’

Mabilla said nothing, but sat as still as a figure carved in stone. Baldwin considered that often women would grow in
attraction as they matured, and this woman seemed to have the dignity and poise of a queen, even in the midst of her grief. Until the door behind her was closed, she sat still and said nothing. Baldwin privately wondered whether her daughter was standing at the door and listening, just as any servant would when there was an interesting argument in prospect in the main hall, but then Mabilla took a deep breath.

‘You will understand that I do not like to speak of this. My own honour is at stake, and that is a grievous heavy burden just now. You see, I fear
I
may be responsible for my husband’s death.’

Simon heard the sudden silence after her calm, quiet words, and he looked up, his finger still on the vellum before him. He frowned. ‘You don’t mean you stabbed him?’

‘Of course not!’ she snapped, but then added introspectively, ‘Yet perhaps I did, even though I didn’t hold the dagger myself.’

‘Please explain,’ Baldwin commanded.

‘Many years ago, long before I was married, I had a lover called William. I was foolishy attracted by his good looks, his dark moods, his aura of violence … I was young and my judgement unsound.’ She paused and cleared her throat. ‘Then, there was a fight in the Cathedral Close and the Chaunter died. My man was one of those involved, and he fled, leaving me behind. Henry and I got together later and I wedded him. And I don’t regret it one moment! He was kind, good, and deserved my respect. I was graced with my daughter, and although I know Henry would have liked a son to carry on his trade, we were not so fortunate. Our boy-children both died soon after birth. Still, Henry never once criticised me or expressed himself disappointed. He only ever behaved affectionately and generously towards me, and for that I honoured him.’

‘However, if this past lover were to have returned, you fear he might have grown jealous?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘He
is
returned. He lives as a corrodian at the Priory. As soon as I saw him again, I knew he wanted me for his wife. He couldn’t remember that he had deserted me, and that I was left alone for nearly forty years! All he knew was, he wanted me and I should go running to him. He is entirely self-centred.’

‘You think he could have killed your husband?’

‘Oh, yes. He is a determined man, Sir Baldwin. A killer. He came here regularly to visit. Henry and he used to be friends, and Henry thought William was coming to talk to him about old times. He didn’t realise that each time William was speaking to me and trying to persuade me to leave my husband. I felt such a
traitor
!’

It was no more than the truth. The way she had felt when William first appeared was a source of shame still. She had felt the familiar quickening of excitement to see William’s old twisted grin again. He was always thrilling; even now at nearly sixty years old, he could make her blood race by merely shooting her a look.

Damn William! He had wanted her for years, that much was obvious. Even Joel still feared him, because of his taste for violence. And he hadn’t actually denied killing Henry. No, the murderer must be William. An obstruction to his happiness – that was how he’d see Henry, as a pest who stood in his way. So he would crush Henry, thinking Mabilla would run into his arms again. Until he grew bored with her again, no doubt.

She covered her face quickly, turning away.

Baldwin felt his own heart lurch with sympathy. He could feel her self-loathing; it was much like his own. The heat of humiliation flushed his face.

‘Do not blame yourself for the failings of men,’ he said in a
low voice. ‘If this William did kill your husband, it is none of your responsibility, but his alone. Now! Is there anyone else you can tell us about who had a quarrel with your husband? Even a mild business dispute can lead to daggers being pulled.’

‘No. No one at all.’

She spoke with determination, as one will when denying even to oneself a painful possibility.

As they were speaking, the Master Mason Robert de Cantebrigge was taking a turn about his works.

The buggers here were all bone idle, of course, and the loss of Saul was a pain, but at least the place appeared to be buzzing, even if the labourers were all sheep-fondling fornicators. Yes, the walls would soon rise again and then the roof trusses could be installed. They’d arrived a little while back and were all stored in the main shed while the walls were being finished. As soon as that was done, they’d be able to get the roof proper up, and then the interior works could be set in train. It hadn’t been an easy task so far, but with luck it would grow easier.

Although Robert de Cantebrigge was by no means superstitious, he didn’t like the fact that there was a dead man still lying in the chapel. He couldn’t voice his concerns, but sometimes he felt he’d be happy to take his money and leave this Cathedral. Something was wrong here.

He had just come to this conclusion when he reached the walls of the old nave, and he stood there eyeing them contemplatively.

Much could be saved, he reckoned. The old stone could be reused in places, but he’d still have to order a lot of rocks from Beer and the local quarries. He’d already persuaded the good Bishop that they should make use of Caen stone in places, and Bishop Walter had agreed. Robert fancied that the latter wanted
to be remembered for this great edifice. Well, if Robert had anything to do with it, Bishop Walter would be!

These walls must come down, probably as far as the window sills, maybe a little more – he would wait and see what condition the base of the walls were in before deciding – and then he could start erecting the new ones. Yes, he was looking forward to that.

There was a rope dangling nearby, and he tutted to himself. Ropes should always be neatly stored and carefully tied. If he’d told them all that once, he’d told them a hundred times. Following the line of the rope, he saw that it rose to a block, and then dropped into a space between some rocks and rubble thrown down from the top of the walls, not far from the northwestern corner of the Cathedral. It seemed peculiar. He couldn’t see why the rope should be lying over there; there was nothing to lift over that way. It was simply a pile of old stones from the walls which had to be sorted into those which were reusable and those which weren’t.

He was frowning about this when Thomas walked to his side.

‘Master, can I have a word with you?’

‘Thomas? Aye. What have you done now, laddie? Killed off another bloody mason? You may not be at all bad at your job, son, but you’ll end up doing it on your own if you’re not careful.’

Thomas did not smile. ‘It’s nothing like that,’ he said. ‘I heard you were going to work on another building soon.’

‘Yeah. I’m running four building projects right now, and it’s time I went to check on the others … why? You bored up here?’

‘Not bored, no, but I’d prefer to leave. I can only serve to upset Saul’s wife if she sees me, and that’s a sore grief to me.’

‘His death was a sore grief to me, too. He was a good mason, sod it! I’ll think about it, anyway.’

‘Thank you, Master.’

‘Now get back to work, will you?’

‘Yes!’ Thomas smiled. He grabbed a ladder and began to climb. As he did so, the master eyed the rope again. Giving it a tentative yank, he was about to leave it, when some instinct made him pull on it. It came fairly easily, although there was a dead weight at the other end.

‘Christ and all His saints!’
he bawled, when he saw what dangled on the other end.

‘So on the night your husband died,’ Baldwin said, ‘did you know he intended to go to the Cathedral?’

Mabilla closed her eyes a moment. ‘I did. I told him he should confess his sins, God help me.’

‘Why? What were they?’ Baldwin pressed her sharply.

She opened her eyes with resignation. ‘He had participated in a murder many years ago. Have you heard of the death of Walter de Lecchelade?’

Simon looked at Baldwin with bemusement. ‘Not me.’

Baldwin was peering at the floor with narrowed eyes. ‘I believe I have! It was before your birth, probably, Simon. Wasn’t it because of the murder that the Bishop was granted the right to build a wall about the Cathedral? I recall someone telling me of the tale when I was a lad.’

‘A body of men set upon de Lecchelade, who was the Chaunter, after Matins one morning. Twenty of them. He was killed, and the men escaped. Later it was learned that the Dean of the time was responsible, and he was put in gaol. Well, the Dean wasn’t alone. He hired men to do his work for him, and my Henry was one of those men.’