The Malice of Unnatural Death

Chapter Eleven

Exeter City

He had seen her. God in heaven, but she was beautiful! Her face was like the Madonna’s, and her gentle gait was enough to makea man sigh for jealousy that another could possess such perfection.

She hadn’t seen him, of course. He couldn’t let her. Not yet. Better that he wait around here and observe. With a caution that was entirely unnatural,and yet he was learning to use most cunningly and quickly, he set off after her, his long legs covering the ground easily.

Her path was leading straight along the High Street towards the Carfoix. He allowed her to move on a little, and then he gaveher some moments to continue while he apparently lounged idly, all the while watching the people hurrying about. He lookedat faces, wondering whether here there was someone who was taking too much interest in him or not.

No. All appeared safe. He quickly set off again.

It would be easy to overtake her whenever he wanted. All he needed was for the streets to become a little quieter and thenhe’d have her.

Warwick Gaol

It was enough to make him weep with despair when they came to tell him that his master was dead.

Robert le Mareschal had taken his life in his hands when he finally submitted to the voice in his head that told him to confesshis crimes, praying to be treated leniently for attempting to rectify his earlier errors.

He had gone to the Sheriff of Warwick, Simon Croyser, and told the whole story. How he and his master had been approachedby twenty-five men of Coventry, how they had offered John of Nottingham twenty whole pounds sterling, offered Robert himselfanother fifteen. A fortune! And for it, they were to use their skills to assassinate the king, his friends Sir Hugh le Despenser, Earl of Winchester, Sir Hugh le Despenser his son, Henry Irreys, the Prior of Coventry, the prior’s cellarer, and Nicholas Crumpe, the prior’s steward. And they had chosen the poor Sir Richard de Sowe as well, for a trial of their skills.

It was the sight of de Sowe’s petrified expression that had persuaded him in the end. The man had done nothing to harm Johnof Nottingham or Robert, but John and the others had picked him to be the test of their abilities. If they could kill Sir Richard de Sowe, they would have a proof of their strength. That was their reasoning.

But when he saw de Sowe dead, the reality of what he was doing was suddenly brought home to him. This was not some abstractscientific experiment, it was murder.

Croyser acted immediately. Robert le Mareschal was held and kept in a dungeon below the castle, and news of his capture andthe events which he said had led up to the death of Sir Richard de Sowe were sent to London. And within a matter of days,the king’s men were back, and the arrests began.

That was all some while ago. He didn’t know how long. Long enough for his hair to grow rank and greasy; long enough for his clothesto rot in the dank chamber; long enough for his muscles to cramp and shiver. His teeth ached; his flesh crawled with creaturesthat nipped at him.

He could weep to think that all was thrown away. The death of de Sowe had been dreadful, but the man had been a liar. He deservedsome sort of punishment. Dear Christ, though, the man had suffered …

Robert stood and made a slow perambulation, going as far as his leg-iron permitted him. It wasn’t far; the chain secured tothe ring in the wall only allowed a short walk. As he went, his arms wrapped about his torso, he kept his head huddled downin his shoulders.

There was a rattle of locks, and he turned slowly to face the door, his flesh creeping at the sound. The arrival of a manhere was invariably the precursor to pain. The keeper of the gaol was a brutal man with no sympathy, only a hatred for allthose who lived under his power. And he had an especial loathing for traitors.

In here there was almost no light, for the only pale imitation of the sun could curl and twist about many passages beforereaching these depths, but as Robert le Mareschal peered at the door he was sure that he could see a glimmering orange light. The glow appeared to grow nearer, and Robert was tortured with conflicting emotions: an urgent, sensual desire to see thattorch or candle, whatever it might be — to see it and hear it crackle, imagining that he could warm himself by its flames- that would be so good! And then there was the opposing terror that whoever it might be, he was coming here to inflict sometorture on Robert’s weakened frame.

There were steps now. Loud, confident paces that marched along the flagged corridor, until they had grown so loud, their echoeswere a torment to his ears. They must pass … they must pass … they would go to another cell …

But they stopped outside his door, and looking up at the barred hole in the door Robert saw the glittering of the sheriff’seyes. Croyser spoke.

‘All taken. John of Nottingham was first, but the others are all secure now.’

‘Thanks to God!’

Croyser looked at him with contempt in his eyes. ‘You pray to God after what you’ve done? You summoned the devil and soldyour soul to kill a man. And would have killed your own king, no doubt, if fear of your punishment hadn’t stopped you.’

‘No! I summoned no demons! And I did tell you of the plot!’

‘Yes, you did, didn’t you? And all, I suppose, because you’d rather risk being hanged than suffering the death that the kingmight plan for you.’

‘What will happen to them now?’

‘The others? They’ll all try to plead innocence and ask for sureties to help them escape from prison. They’ll only be herea short while, I expect.’

‘And my master? How is he?’

‘I thought …’

There was a sudden doubt in the sheriff’s voice. Robert le Mareschal felt a griping in his belly that was not due to the thinpottage he had eaten that morning. ‘He hasn’t escaped? If he has escaped, he can make an image of me and kill me!’

‘Well, he has escaped in a way, I suppose.’ The sheriff grinned nastily. ‘His body’s here, but his spirit’s escaped, I suppose you could say. More than you will do.’

‘All I did was make mommets and obey my master,’ Robert declared.

‘You made the figures very realistic, too, didn’t you? So realistic even I could recognise my king when I saw it. No, youonly came forward because you thought you’d make a safer pact by selling your companions to the king than by killing him. What was it, did someone else hint that they’d give you up?’

‘I’ve already told you …’

‘Yes, you’ve told me what you want me to hear. You haven’t told me everything, though. Not by a long shot. But you will, youwill. I’ll have you shrieking in agony and begging to tell me all. We are skilled in the use of our devices here, and theking is upset to hear that you helped make the imitation of him so that you could kill him by your maleficium.’

‘I wouldn’t have done anything to him! I couldn’t!’ Robert pleaded. He had surrendered himself as soon as he could when herealised that the attempt must be discovered: the thought of the punishment that would come to a man who had dared to makean attempt on the life of the king had petrified him with fear.

‘You’ll have to convince him, not me. And not only him. You know, I don’t think that the good king’s friends are happy either. From what I’ve heard, the Despensers are also distressed to think that you and your master could have taken money from thesemalcontents and traitors to kill them. I don’t know, but I rather think that Sir Hugh le Despenser will want to be involvedin your punishment personally. And God help you if he does!’

Exeter City

It took Baldwin and the coroner only a short while to walk up South Gate Street towards the area in which the watchman had seen theshadow, but it took considerably more time for Baldwin to persuade the coroner to enter the lane with him.

‘You are seriously suggesting that there could have been a man in here who had the skill to change himself into a blastedcat to escape that poor excuse for a guard?’

‘Of course not! Yet he may have seen something which was out of place, even if he did succumb to superstitious nonsense shortlyafterwards.’

‘I think we’d be better served fetching ourselves a pie for our dinner.’

‘Come, it will take little enough time,’ Baldwin said.

With a bad grace the coroner gave in, and Baldwin was grateful for his company as they walked along the busy lane towardsthe Bear Gate.

‘He did say the second alley after the main street?’ Baldwin confirmed, his nose wrinkled at the stench. ‘I can understandwhy he would be reluctant to enter this noisome little trail.’

It was a narrow gap between houses like so many others, and yet here the width was much reduced. As Baldwin took a first tentativestep in, he felt as though the houses were all leaning in towards him, their upper storeys bending down and blocking out thesky.

Oddly enough, once the two men had walked about ten paces, the whole area brightened. Here there was a curve in the alley,and now it ran straight towards the south. The sun was up in the clouds there, brightening a thinner layer of cloud, and thealley appeared less repellent than it had at first because once they were away from the entrance, it widened somewhat. However, the odours of excrement and urine wereall-pervasive. A scuttling ahead showed where a rat was scavenging, and the sounds stopped as the two drew nearer.

‘I cannot imagine why any man would want to come down here.’

‘For a fellow making good his escape, it would be as good as any,’ Baldwin considered. ‘Look at this place! No one is hereduring the day, so it must be guaranteed to be deserted at night. Say you had killed a king’s messenger, and you had to escape. The South Gate would be shut, so where else could you go? This would be the ideal route to take, I should say.’

The coroner lifted his boot with an expression of distaste and stared at the sole. ‘So long as he didn’t mind being coveredin the ordure of the centuries, damn it! Look at that!’ He began to scrape the muck from his boot on a step.

‘The rat would explain why there would be a cat up here,’ Baldwin continued, walking on a short distance and peering abouthim. ‘I dare say this would be a cheerful hunting ground for any feline. And the appearance of a man suddenly coming up thealley from the gate might startle a cat so that it decided to bolt for it, and that was how it met with the fearful watchman.’

‘Perfectly logical,’ the coroner agreed.

‘And the watchman said he thought the man looked like a sorcerer. Let us go and visit the fellow, eh?’

Lady Alice reached the house late in the afternoon, with Sarra as chaperon, only to find it encircled by a small group ofgawping men and women. There was a beadle she recognised outside, a scruffy little fellow whom her husband had once said he suspected of half the crimes in the city, excepthe’d never managed to catch him.

‘What is all this?’ she asked a woman nearby.

‘Mistress, the man here was attacked and almost killed.’

Lady Alice’s eyes widened. ‘You are sure of this?’

There was no need to respond. The only reason for a crowd this size was an attempted murder, or, better, an actual one.

‘My lady, we ought to get back,’ Sarra said nervously.

‘Yes, of course,’ Lady Alice said with some irritation. It was so hard to get time away from the castle just now, and shewas desperate for any help she could get.

Matthew had never said as much, but she knew that he felt the lack of children as sorely as she herself. They had tried — God knew all too well how hard! — but she could not conceive for some reason. And then she had had the idea of enlisting thehelp of this man Langatre.

It meant lots of foul potions, which she did her best to apply as he suggested, rubbing them in about her body, but, as heexplained, the trouble with these kinds of problem was the womb itself. It was a strange organ, which could move about thebody. Only when it was positioned firmly could a man pierce her with hopes of success. And in her case, it was rarely fixed.

She would have to pray that he made a swift recovery so that she might see him again soon.

And just then she felt her heart seem to stop. Time ceased as she stared at the man with the black eyes, the scruffy stubbleat his chin, the deep creases like knife-slashes at either side of his mouth, and there was a moment’s confusion in her mindas she felt her belly roil.

‘Mary Mother of God!’

Sarra saw her confusion and paleness. ‘Mistress? My lady? What is it?’

‘Sarra, go to the tavern up on the corner and fetch me a pint of strong ale. Go! Now! I shall wait here.’

And as soon as her maid had left her, she sank down onto a moorstone trough that sat nearby and waited, not daring to lookas he approached her grimly, his hand ready on his knife.