City of Fiends

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Road east of Exeter

They were moving again.

Ulric rode along like a man with too much wine in his belly. Twice he nearly overbalanced from his saddle, and once he had to jerk himself upright quickly before he fell.

In his mind’s eye he saw the villagers again in that hideous charnelhouse that had been their sanctuary, their church. And he wondered how he might bring retribution to the men here, to Sir Charles and his band of devils.

He could see no means of betraying the men without being associated with them, however, and dying at their side.

How had he come to this? He was an apprentice to Henry Paffard, and all he knew was that he was to help inform Sir Charles when the Bishop was intended to arrive at his manor. But now he was an accessory to this band of murderers.

Escape was impossible, but there was still the possibility that he could make his way back to Henry Paffard. Master Paffard could not have realised what Sir Charles and his men intended to do. Surely the merchant would be as horrified as Ulric when he heard about the attack on the Bishop.

But why then had he instructed Ulric to come here to direct Sir Charles to the Bishop?

That was his greatest fear: that his master was in this up to the hilt. That he was a knowing confederate of Sir Charles. He was the only man who might save Ulric, but if he was an ally of the murderers of Bishop James, Ulric was lost.

Then another thought struck him.

What if Henry Paffard were to disassociate himself from Sir Charles? What then could Ulric do?

Exeter Cathedral

Adam Murimuth stood in the Cathedral Close, his head bent, praying for his dead Bishop.

He had a terrible feeling of loss. It was as if he had not yet come to realise that the death of Bishop James was genuine, as if there could be a vague hope still that he would return to surprise the congregation, that wry smile on his face that showed he had enjoyed the joke.

Not now. The procession that had made its way to the Guild Hall was utterly convincing. The grief of the people of the city was unfeigned, and the Sheriff himself had come to pay his respects, along with all the prominent men of the Freedom. All stood solemnly as the cart bearing the body stopped, and the people could see the sad, grey face of the man who had been their spiritual leader for such a cruelly short time.

‘Only three months,’ Adam murmured.

The man had been so good a Christian, and Adam had enjoyed working with him. To lose him so swiftly was terribly sad, but at least he was in God’s care now.

Adam had gone to meet the body at the Guild Hall, and soon he and the procession were making their way along the High Street, past suddenly silent men and women, and thence into Broad Gate, and from there, down to the West Door of the Cathedral.

Now, while the Bishop’s body was lifted and carried solemnly into the Cathedral Church, Adam spied the Bishop’s steward, and went over to his side.

‘This is a terrible business, Arthur. Was it sudden?’

The old steward turned eyes bleary with misery to him. ‘Sudden? Yes. They appeared from nowhere.’

Adam blinked. ‘What do you mean? Who did?’

‘The force that attacked us. I still don’t know who they were, even.’

In his shock, Adam’s mouth moved without speaking for fully ten beats of his heart. ‘I don’t understand, Arthur. What do you mean? I thought he had an accident, or a brain fever.’

‘No. We were attacked. The men who killed him ambushed us as we arrived at the gates to Petreshayes. There were thirty or more of them, and they were in among us, slashing and hacking – and when they rode off, my Lord Bishop James was dead on the ground, along with two Brothers and his squire, while they went on to plunder the manor. We cleaned him as well as we might, once they were gone, but that was that.’

‘Who would do such a thing?’ Adam breathed. It was incomprehensible, but his shock was already giving way to anger. ‘Who would dare do such a thing?’

‘Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing. They cut all the way through us until they reached him, and when he was dead, they just took everything they could, and rode off. It was awful, Adam, awful. My poor master!’ And the steward burst into tears, wiping them from his cheeks with a bitter grief.

Avices’ House

Helewisia invited Emma in as soon as she saw the state her neighbour was in.

‘Come, take a seat,’ she said calmly, motioning to her servant to fetch some strong wine. Weaker stuff would not do, she guessed.

‘You heard the screaming?’

‘Of course I did. It must have been most unsettling for you.’

‘Oh, Helewisia, it wasn’t that. I just couldn’t believe the look on her face. It was all twisted, you know? I was sure she was mad. I thought she might pull out a knife and kill me there. It was horrible.’

‘She is losing everything, Emma, all because you told Henry about her bad mood the other day. What did you expect from her?’

‘I know. I wish now I hadn’t. But I couldn’t not tell him. It upset Sabina so much.’

‘Well, soon they’ll be gone, I suppose,’ Helewisia said, taking the cups from her maid.

‘I just hope I did the right thing,’ Emma said, staring into the cup. She took a sip. ‘I do feel bad about her and her boys.’

Helewisia said nothing. She was thinking that it was good to regret injustice, but better to avoid it in the beginning. And besides, she had more in common, she knew, with Juliana than with Emma. She herself had wanted to collapse after her lovely son, Piers, had died. Trying to get them food because they were so hard up for money, he had climbed the church spire to catch roosting pigeons. One slip, and he was gone forever.

Father Paul had tried to comfort her by telling her he was alive in heaven, and that he would be there waiting when she died too. He was trying to be kind to her, reminding her of the miraculous salvation granted to those who died in innocence, but his words gave no succour. In fact, they made her furious, because why should God have taken her little boy from her? Piers was hers, he was here for her to love and cherish and watch grow, and when she was older, he would look after her, and she would love him all her days. But God had taken him from her, leaving her nothing.

Of course she had become accustomed to the tragedy, as all mothers must. She had striven for another boy with her husband Roger, and the two had mechanically tried every month, but it was as though little Piers had dried her womb when he had been born. There was no joy in their lovemaking, and no success. After two years she had desisted. Occasionally when Roger had been out with his friends and returned drunk, she would allow him to use her body, as the marriage vow insisted, but she found no pleasure in it. She would avert her head and try to think of other things.

But life returned to its usual tenor. She had a daughter to raise, even if her darling boy was gone. Katherine was a good girl, by and large, and Roger had his successes in business, so they were comfortable. But their lives had for those few years known such happiness that all their days remaining were a reminder of how good things once had been.

‘I feel so bad now. Juliana’s mind nearly broke, Helewisia.’

Helewisia said nothing. Emma wanted her sympathy for her own cruelty to their neighbour, and Helewisia could not give it. Her sympathy had all been used up years before.

Precentor’s House

Adam Murimuth had aged ten years in the past few hours, Baldwin thought as he walked into the Precentor’s hall. His usually cheerful face was haggard, his mien sombre.

It was normally a cosy room, this. A bright fire was always lighted in the hearth, and the windows allowed plenty of light to fall inside. But today it was a cheerless place, without fire or candles to bring relief.

Simon was sitting near the Precentor’s table. ‘You’ve heard?’ he asked.

‘The Bishop’s body is brought back, I hear,’ Baldwin said.

‘It is terrible news,’ Adam said. ‘We had thought it was a sad accident, or perhaps a sudden malady – it had never occurred to us that it could be simple murder!’

‘Tell me what happened,’ Baldwin said. He stood before Adam while Sir Richard sat down beside Simon, and Edgar took his post near the door.

Adam sighed. ‘It would seem a party of men attacked him at the gates to Petreshayes,’ he began, and told all he had learned from Arthur. Finishing, he looked about him mournfully. ‘I do not know how any man could attack the good Bishop in so violent a manner. It is incomprehensible.’

‘I fear it may be all too comprehensible,’ Baldwin said. ‘Our good Bishop was James of Berkeley, was he not? Therein lies your answer. For the last months, Sir Edward of Caernarfon has been held at Berkeley Castle, under the guard of Lord Thomas of Berkeley. Many in the kingdom still support Sir Edward. Someone has chosen to ride to the Lord’s brother, who was less well-guarded, and slay him in revenge for Sir Edward’s incarceration.’

‘But surely no one would kill a Bishop because of his brother’s actions?’ Adam said plaintively.

There was no need to answer. All knew that the kingdom was bubbling like poison on a fire. The new King was too young to rule, and must submit to his council of regents; his mother remained a dangerous, wild creature who sought power for herself; and her lover, Sir Roger Mortimer, controlled more men than any other, many of them Hainault mercenaries who were loyal only to him. At such a time it was no surprise that some supporters of the old King might take revenge for the imprisonment of their leader.

‘To think that he was cut down while trying to visit the religious houses in his demesne as a good Bishop should,’ Adam grieved. ‘He was innocent of any crime.’

‘Many are, who have died in these troubled times,’ Baldwin agreed.

‘You must go and seek these murderers,’ Adam said suddenly.

Baldwin smiled a little. ‘Me? Go to Petreshayes? And what should I achieve there?’

‘You could find them, bring them here to justice. See them punished for their abominable crime.’

‘I am sorry, Precentor, but I am afraid that the felons who committed this evil deed will be long gone from Petreshayes. It would be a similar group to those who attacked Berkeley Castle and freed Sir Edward of Caernarfon. They too are flown, as well as all their retainers. I must remain here, in Devon, to see whether it is possible to find Sir Edward, if I am so commanded.’

‘You have a duty to your Church!’ Adam countered passionately.

‘No,’ Baldwin said flatly. ‘I hold a warrant from the King, and I am duty bound to obey my orders from him. And while I would help if I may, the Bishop died far away from here. It is up to the local officials to investigate and pursue these felons. Precentor, I am truly sorry. I can do little to assist you.’

Adam was not content, but he could see there were no words that would tempt Sir Baldwin to undertake this mission.

‘I shall have to do what I may, then,’ he said at last.

‘There is much to do when a lord dies,’ Sir Richard said.

‘All the servants must be warned or let free. Many will never find work again. I trust the Bishop had made his will,’ Adam said, his mind racing. ‘There are the peasants on all his estates, and others who will want to pay their respects.’

‘Aye. Since he was murderously slain, there could be even more comin’ to see him,’ Sir Richard said. ‘You should buy a new strongbox.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s the way of things. If a good man like Bishop James is to die before his time, then many will think him worth commemorating – like a martyr, I mean. You could find the place swarming with the godly before long. You’ll need a new chest to store all their gifts.’

‘Pilgrims? To Bishop James’s tomb?’ Adam said. ‘No, surely not. What nonsense that would be.’

But there was a pensive look in his eye as Baldwin and the others left.