The Saltergate Psalter (29 page)

Martha and the priest were in the same position, his knife at her neck. She wasn't going to let herself show any of the terror she had to be feeling.

‘I'd expected you to be quicker,' Geoffrey said. There was no emotion in his voice. It was just words, empty.

‘I had to persuade the coroner.'

‘Then it's as well you have a silver tongue. Put it on the table.' The priest nodded in the direction. ‘And your knife with it,' he added.

John did exactly as Geoffrey ordered, with slow, deliberate movements, keeping his hands in sight.

‘Very good,' the man told him. He darted over, pulling the book towards him, on to Martha's lap. John's knife tumbled noisily to the floor. ‘Open it,' Geoffrey told Martha.

She tried to hide the tremor in her hands as her fingers moved, but it was obvious. Yet as she saw the cover of the psalter, its jewels twinkling in the light, she couldn't stop a gasp of wonder. Martha ran her hand over the leather and stones, then opened the book.

He could see the longing and satisfaction in the priest's eyes as he gazed at the beautiful illustrations.

‘Was it worthwhile?' John asked.

‘Was what worthwhile?' Geoffrey's head jerked up, annoyed by the distraction.

‘Killing all those people for this.'

‘All?' He smiled. ‘I killed two, that's all.'

‘Does that excuse it? You persuaded others to kill for you. That makes you responsible for the other deaths.'

‘Do you know what Timothy used to do? Whenever I went to visit him he showed me the psalter. And each time he'd taunt me and say he wasn't leaving it to the church.'

‘Did he ever tell you who'd get it?'

‘No.' The word came out curt and abrupt. ‘He wouldn't say.'

‘Tell me, Father. How did you persuade Edward the Butcher and Gilbert to kill Timothy and his servant?

‘I didn't have to.' Geoffrey smiled. ‘Julian did that. I'd promised him, and anyone who helped him, absolution for it. I said he was helping the church by returning something that rightly belonged with God. He snatched at absolution for his sins, and he arranged everything. I told Timothy the men were coming to do some work he needed out of Christian charity.'

What would God think of that, he wondered? Precious little charity in a knife blade.

‘And then you killed Julian.'

The priest shrugged. ‘He'd become greedy. He thought a pardon for his sins wasn't payment enough. He wanted silver, too.'

‘You beat Walter, too. My brother-in-law.'

‘The boy was getting too close. He saw something he shouldn't. I'm surprised he survived.'

‘Be grateful he did or I'd have killed you myself. Was it you who tried to set the fire in my kitchen, too?'

Geoffrey shrugged again. ‘In the panic it might have been easy enough to go in and smother the lad. Just to be certain.'

‘And when I was attacked out along the riverbank. A man on his own who wanted to kill me.'

‘No,' the priest told him. ‘Maybe you have more enemies than you know.'

‘And the bishop's man? What about him?' He hadn't been able to understand how all these things fitted into the puzzle; there seemed to be no place for them.

‘It muddied the waters,' Father Geoffrey told him. ‘I knew who they were and why they were here.'

‘And why was that?' It was something he wanted to know. Needed to know.

‘There had been … complaints.'

‘About you?'

‘About my conduct with some of the women in the parish. The bishop sent them to investigate.'

‘Were the complaints true?'

The priest shook his head. ‘I've kept my vows. I'm celibate. But there's always tittle-tattle. Gossip has wings.'

‘Those vows you took. Do they include killing, and coveting something that's not yours?'

The priest raised his head. His eyes were shining. ‘Sometimes a thing is worth the world. You've seen it. Isn't it beautiful?'

‘Very,' John agreed. ‘But it's still just a book, a thing. How can it be worth
one
life, never mind so many?'

‘Then you don't understand.' He reached down and took the book away from Martha, clasping it tight in one hand. The other still held the knife to her throat.

‘What are you going to do now? You can't get far. As soon as you let her go the bailiffs will be on you.'

‘We'll see. Change places with the woman.'

He did as he was ordered. Better him at risk that Martha. As they passed he took her hand for a moment and squeezed it lightly.

‘Go outside,' Father Geoffrey told Martha. ‘Tell them to clear a path from here to the church. If anyone tries to stop me, I'll kill your friend. Come back when it's ready.'

She fled. As the door opened he could hear a host of voices. Then it closed again and it was just the two of them.

‘Going to claim sanctuary?' John asked.

‘It's my right.'

‘You can't stay there forever.'

‘Forty days and nights. A great deal can happen. There's time to talk and agree. Plenty of chance for things to be forgotten.'

‘The coroner won't forget murder. You can believe me on that.'

‘We'll see, won't we? Right, they've had time to move people. Stand up.'

The priest stayed close enough for his dagger to touch the skin without piercing it.

‘Don't take any fancy ideas,' he warned, his voice hissing in John's ear. ‘Before I took to the priesthood, I was a soldier. I know how to use a knife.'

‘You could give up. Claim benefit of clergy and they can't hang you.'

He should have felt terrified, but he didn't. The priest wasn't about to kill the man who could get him to the church. He was safe enough. And once Geoffrey reached sacred ground he'd let him go.

‘Then spend my life in a monastery?'

‘They have books there,' John said. He tried to think. What else could a man who'd claimed sanctuary do? Leave the country by the nearest port. ‘Even if they let you abjure the realm, they'll never let you take the psalter.'

‘Then I'll destroy it. Burn it.'

Would he, John wondered? Could he put the pages of something he loved so much, something he'd killed to own, in the flames? Probably not. But that was another argument, one that would never concern him, God willing.

One minute became five, then ten, time dragging out very slowly.

‘Where is that woman?' Geoffrey said. ‘Maybe she's left you to die with me.'

‘No.' Martha wouldn't do that, he knew that. All he could do was wait. The time here was affecting Geoffrey more than him. The priest was nervous, scared. Twice the point of the knife had dug deep enough to pierce his neck, leaving a small trickle of blood.

The man's hands were sweating. He could see the discolouration on the linen as he clutched the book against his chest.

Finally the door swung open and Dame Martha appeared. She was breathless and red-faced, fanning herself with one gnarled hand. Her eyes looked at John and he could see the question in them. He gave a small nod: he was fine, no real damage done.

‘They've cleared a path for you,' she said.

John heard the priest shift behind him.

‘Come on then, Carpenter. It's time we took a short walk.'

The knife pricked the back of his neck as he walked across the tiled floor, his boots ringing out with each step. He paused at the doorway. The light seemed too bright. Unreal. He had to blink a few times before his eyes could take it all in.

People had crowded around. Word must have spread like a blaze. It looked as though half of Chesterfield had gathered to watch. The bailiffs held them back, forming a corridor. Men and women were shouting, their faces contorted by anger and curiosity, creating a sea of noise.

John took a breath and stepped out into the dust of the road. He could feel the priest behind him, the knife touching his skin lightly. The man was close enough for John to smell his sour breath.

As he walked, John gazed around. It wasn't far to the church. Just a few hundred yards. But it looked like miles. The steeple seemed to rise like a mountain in the distance. The coroner was standing by the porch, Brother Robert just behind him.

He could see the Holywell Cross, old worn stone catching the sunlight. Katherine stood there, holding on to the girls. Her eyes were begging. He smiled and winked at her. All would be well. This would be done soon.

No Walter, though. That was a shock. Maybe the lad was still too weak. It didn't matter. Everyone would be talking about this for days.

He kept walking, fixing his eyes on the church. Soon. Just a few seconds and he'd be there. John felt every step. Each one seemed like a great effort, as if his legs weighed more than he could lift. He had to force each one up then down again.

A bead of sweat trickled down his back, running along his spine, chilling him on a hot day. Geoffrey had to be scared. The people here would tear him apart if they had the chance.

Suddenly John halted in mid-stride. Just ten yards ahead Walter had appeared. He'd slipped past the bailiffs. Now he stood there, the bruises and cuts covering his flesh. The crowd shrank back from him. Maybe it was fear, maybe horror; there was nothing handsome about him in this state.

But the lad didn't move.

‘Get out of the way, boy,' Geoffrey called. ‘If you want your brother-in-law to live.' The knife jabbed against his neck.

It was now or never at all. Walter had all of Geoffrey's attention. John took a breath and let himself fall to the ground. As he tumbled, his hand reached into his boot and grabbed the knife he kept there. It was a lesson he'd learned years before. A weapon out of sight was often never found.

He pulled the blade out. As his shoulder hit the earth he reached around and sliced through the tendon at Geoffrey's heel, then rolled away before the man could collapse on top of him.

He heard a loud cry of pain, and the priest was down in the dirt. He'd dropped his knife and clutched at the wound with one hand. But the other kept a tight grip on the psalter.

It was over. Done. John kicked the man's weapon away. Geoffrey was writhing, screaming and bleeding. Safety was less than fifty yards away but he'd never reach it now. He'd probably never manage to walk properly again.

John wiped the knife on his jerkin, suddenly aware of the voices all around, as if he'd just emerged from a dream. But before he could say anything or do anything, someone pushed him roughly out of the way.

He stumbled, finding his balance after a moment, then turning, knife ready to strike again. Christian was kneeling heavily on the priest's chest. He had his thick hands around the man's neck, banging his head down and down against a rock.

A pair of stout bailiffs took hold and dragged Christian away, cursing and yelling as they pulled him off. The priest was dazed, gasping for breath. But he'd live.

John glanced and saw Walter still standing there, in the exact same position. He turned his head and picked out Katherine by the Cross. She was watching him, one hand clasped over her mouth in shock.

He left Geoffrey there and walked up to the boy, placing his hands on Walter's shoulders.

‘Thank you.'

The lad was looking beyond him, at the figure still on the ground. ‘It was him. As soon as I saw him I remembered.'

‘I know,' John said quietly. ‘He admitted it.'

‘What's going to happen to him?'

It was the coroner who answered. He came, Brother Robert at his shoulder. Someone had handed him the psalter, still in its grubby linen wrapping.

‘We'll keep him a while, then he'll go down to Derby,' de Harville said bitterly. ‘When he's tried he'll plead benefit of clergy so we won't be able to hang him.'

‘What's that?' Walter asked.

‘All he has to do is read a verse from the Bible. Psalm fifty.' He kept his gaze firmly on the priest. Two of the bailiffs were lifting him to his feet. ‘He'll just end up with a lifetime of penance.' He raised his voice. ‘Take him away. Put him in the jail for now.'

Geoffrey hobbled away, supported by his guards, his useless leg raised off the ground.

‘He'll always need a crutch,' John said. It didn't seem like much of a punishment.

‘Good.' The coroner's voice was hard. ‘He deserves to hang, if there was any real justice. You did well there, Carpenter. You took him by surprise.'

‘If Walter hadn't been standing there I wouldn't have had the courage to stop.' He looked at the lad and smiled.

De Harville raised a questioning eyebrow. If the man didn't want to believe, so be it. But it was true.

‘Do you always carry an extra knife?' he asked.

‘I've done it for years. Geoffrey said he'd been a soldier. Unless he was lying, he should have thought about a second weapon.' He shook his head. ‘Too late now.'

Two bailiffs brought Christian. He'd been stripped of his sword and dagger, but he was still struggling in their grasp. The coroner nodded to them to release him. They obeyed, still standing ready, untrusting.

‘I didn't think my men had arrived soon enough for you to be here so quickly.'

‘Your men?' Christian asked. ‘I never saw them. I've been here since early morning. I had business to attend to.' Christian's eyes were blazing. ‘Ask Adam the wool merchant if you don't believe me. I rode in this morning. I was about to leave when I heard the commotion. I saw the priest with that.' He nodded at the package. ‘I wouldn't mourn if he killed the carpenter, but people were saying he'd murdered Julian. I couldn't let that lie. Not my friend.'

Rumour, John thought. It flew on the breeze here.

‘What about the book?' de Harville asked. He held it up.

‘What about it?' Christian snorted.

‘Do you know who it belongs to?'