The Malice of Unnatural Death

Chapter Thirty

Exeter City

Sir Richard de Welles and Baldwin saw Busse pulling this way and that, and although the coroner wore a happy smile on hisface at the sight, he remonstrated gruffly with the men who held him.

‘What is this, eh? A man of the cloth being held by you horny-handed peasants? Eh? Have you no respect for the Church? Youshould release him at once.’

‘He was in there, Coroner. We saw him come out just a few moments before, and there’s a dead man inside.’

‘What? Is it murder?’

The man who had spoken glanced around at his peers, but it was clear that none had been inside to see whether it was murderor not.

But Busse knew. ‘It was murder, Coroner. His throat has been opened from one side to the other.’

‘What is this, Brother Robert?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Have you had a part in a murder?’

‘It’s nothing to do with me! I had no part. I was with the sheriff until a very few moments ago. I came back here with Langatre,and we found this … body when we came here.’

‘A body in Langatre’s house?’

‘In the undercroft. We saw that the door to it was open, and there was a pool outside … blood, Keeper. Blood in a puddle like rainwater. It had drained from his body … Good God! I hope never to see a sight like that again.’

‘He’s lying!’ One of Busse’s captors had no doubts. ‘He bolted from there like a quarrel from a bow.’

‘If he is telling the truth and the man in there was killed by having his throat cut,’ Baldwin said mildly, ‘then God musthave performed a miracle indeed.’

‘Eh?’

Baldwin stepped nearer, and gestured with a hand that encompassed Busse’s torso. ‘To have cut his throat and not been smotheredin the fellow’s blood.’

The men gripping Busse gradually allowed their hold to loosen. It was clearly true. Although Busse’s sandalled feet showedsigns of blood, there was none on his body or his hands. ‘Sorry, Brother.’

‘You are forgiven, friends. You had no reason to consider me innocent,’ Busse said, although it was partly through clenchedteeth. However, that was less from anger than from an urgent need to stop his teeth from chattering. The sight of the bodyhad shocked him more than he could say.

Baldwin beckoned the coroner. ‘Let us go and view this latest body.’ He looked about him for Simon, but he reasoned that Simonwas never at his best in the presence of sudden violent death, and the bailiff would probably prefer to be saved studyingyet another. He would no doubt return shortly.

‘Yes,’ Coroner Richard agreed, but he shot a look at the miserable monk. ‘Don’t go anywhere until we’re back, though, Brother. Wait for us here, eh?’

Busse gave a dejected nod as the two men made their way to Langatre’s house.

Although the front door gave onto Langatre’s own little hall and the stairs which led up to the small second storey, there was a passagewayto the left side of the property. Originally Baldwin had assumed that this must lead to the garden at the back, but now herealised that there was another staircase here that led to the basement beneath the house. He stepped to it, and saw thatthere was indeed a series of stone steps leading down below the main house. And on all the steps there was the unmistakablesign of bloody footprints. Peering down it was easy to see where they came from. At the bottom, as Busse had said, there wasa thick pool of blood.

Descending, Baldwin mused that this must be how hell itself smelled. There was a strong, tinny odour from all the blood, butas he came to the rough elm boards of the door at the bottom, that was overwhelmed by the stench from within. Brimstone, sicklydecaying foulness, all with the cloying, repellent tang of death. He wanted to pull a fold of his tunic over his mouth toprotect himself from infection, for all knew that bad air, malaria, could kill, but it was impractical to try that down here. Instead he took a deep breath before entering, hoping to be ableto take in less air within the room, and carefully stepped over the blood.

It was dark. Even with the candles set about the place at different vantage points, it was still gloomy. There were two windowsat the front of the building, but the sun was at the rear of the house, and there was no ingress for light from that direction. Instead the two front windows served to provide all light and air. They were inadequate.

‘Christ’s balls, Keeper, I’ve been in brighter caverns!’ the coroner rumbled. ‘Fetch more light in here!’

There were four men in there, all standing about the body on the floor, which was only a matter of two feet or so from the door. When the owner of the house had built it, the undercrofthad been constructed with a drain from the staircase leading away from the place. Otherwise water could have flowed into theundercroft from the road whenever there was a heavy downpour. That was why the blood had flowed in a stream from the bodyto lie outside at the bottom of the stairs. Baldwin could see that, and take it in as he crossed the threshold, but then hewas at the body and squatting to one side so that as much light as possible from the doorway could fall on the corpse.

‘Langatre,’ he said coldly.

‘I was here with Busse, but he bolted,’ Langatre said. He was reserved, but Baldwin had seen many men so in the presence ofsudden death.

Clearly this had been an older man. He was pale, a little thin, but powerful in appearance. His arms had been strong, andhis jaw jutted with an obstinate look. Baldwin was not certain, especially in this light, but he reckoned the man must havebeen at least five-and-fifty. His eyes were wide — with shock, perhaps? — and the gaping wound where his throat should havebeen was foul. Blood had sprayed all over the room, smothering the table top in front of the door, spattering the ceiling… and yet there was nothing on the door itself or the wall behind Baldwin. There was a beam of oak sitting propped atthe wall, and Baldwin saw that this was used to lock the door. He wondered whether this man could have opened the door tosomeone he knew, turned his back to lead the man inside, and been grabbed from behind and slashed with a knife. That wouldclearly explain the wide pattern of blood: the killer had the victim’s forehead in his hand, pulling back his head and sostretching his neck. When cut, the vessels all gaped and gushed like fountains.

Baldwin had seen enough men die to know that this one would have had no chance to protect himself. Once the knife had severedhis veins, he would have been unconscious in moments.

‘Someone in here has been toying with sorcery,’ Langatre said.

‘Why do you say that?’ Coroner Richard asked.

‘These tools. Look at it all.’

Baldwin was peering at the table. ‘What was all this wax for, I wonder.’

Langatre didn’t answer. His mind, like Baldwin’s, was fixed on the attempt to murder the king by necromancy.

The room was filled with strange items. Baldwin saw some implements lined up on a table; a robe which had curious symbolsstitched onto it, similar to Langatre’s upstairs.

Langatre jerked his head. ‘I think we may have solved one murder, at least.’

The coroner was still standing and studying the body, hands on hips, as Baldwin crossed the room and gazed down at the thingon the table. ‘Eh?’

‘Master Langatre has found a finger,’ Baldwin said.

Simon did not think that his captive merited much concern. After allowing the fellow to stand, and dusting down his own jacket,which had become spattered with mud and dirt from the ground, he sniffed. ‘Who are you?’

The man met his look with a fixed consideration, then threw a look back towards the house over the way. Eventually he grunted,‘I am called Robinet of Newington. Friends call me Newt. Who are you?’

‘I am a bailiff. Why were you watching that place?’

‘You’re a city bailiff? You don’t look like one.’

‘No, I’m not from the city. Why were you watching it?’

With a quick glance about them, as though anxious, he said, ‘If you want to talk, why not do it in more comfort? Let’s finda tavern or …’

‘Ah, no, friend Newt. This will do us fine, unless you want to talk in the gaol.’

Simon found he was being submitted to a minute inspection, from his worn and stained boots to his soft felt hat. ‘You threatenme with that before you know anything about me?’

‘You just tried to run like a felon. I don’t need to know much about a felon to have him gaoled.’

That brought a twisted grin to his face. ‘Fair enough. So let’s find somewhere to sit while you judge whether I am a felonor not, eh?’

‘Perhaps we can do that later, Master Robinet. For now there is the matter of a dead man in that house over there,’ Simonpointed out. ‘What do you know of it?’

‘Absolutely nothing. I was here to meet a friend, and as I arrived these men began running out and screaming.’

‘Who was your friend?’

‘A man of the city. He’s called Walter.’

‘Of Hanlegh?’

‘You know him?’ Robinet said with a smile.

Simon shook his head. ‘No, but we have been hearing a lot about him.’

‘Ah, that is a relief. Walter was here, but when I went to fetch pies for our dinner he disappeared. Where is he?’

Simon contemplated him. ‘Do you know who owns this house?’

‘I’ve met him a couple of times. A man called Michael, I think. Why?’

‘We will need to ask him about the man we just found in the basement, that’s why,’ Simon said. ‘Come with me.’

‘I’d prefer to wait here — I am worried about my friend.’

‘We’ll find him later.’

To Simon’s relief, he submitted. There was no point in trying to evade a so much younger man while he was alert and ready.

Simon saw that the monk was still in front of the house, encircled by a small group of men with staffs held ready. Simon eyedhim as they pushed their way through the crowds. The monk looked quite petrified, and from the grim expressions on the facesof the men holding him there, he had cause.

As they came closer, Baldwin and the coroner reappeared from the undercroft.

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, Keeper of the King’s Peace. This is Coroner Richard de Welles. Who are you, and for what reasonwere you watching this place?’

‘Robinet of Newington,’ he answered, studying Baldwin and then glancing at the coroner. He had known many king’s officersin his life, and none had justified trust. These men looked decent, but felons often did. ‘I was waiting in the street formy friend to return. I was to meet him here.’

‘Rob?’ Simon said.

‘I followed the monk here, and when I arrived that man was already stood over there and staring at the place.’ Rob’s voiceheld a heavy larding of glee. He was triumphant to be the centre of all attention. Even as he spoke, he was aware of otherpeople coming closer to listen.

‘Where is the monk?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Here I am, Sir Baldwin! Sir, we have met before when you visited my beloved lord, Abbot Robert at Tavistock. Do you remember me?’

‘I know you,’ Baldwin responded coolly. ‘But let me ask you the same question I asked of this gentleman: what were you doinghere?’

‘My good friend Richard Langatre had been arrested in error, and I had a lengthy conversation with the sheriff to ask forhis release. Naturally when I secured that release, I wished to talk to him for a while, so we came back here. And when wedid so, we had been inside only a short while when my friend needed some coals. I think he dropped some into a puddle, and I later saw that it was blood. It appeared to come from beneath the door, so I went to investigate, as any good citizen should,and there I found a dead man.’

‘Where is Langatre now?’ Coroner Richard called.

‘I am here.’

Richard de Langatre stood in the doorway to his own rooms, pale and faintly green about the face. He was wiping at his mouth,and his eyes were red-rimmed. ‘Sorry. I had to throw up. I’d had my hand in the blood, and it made me sick to think of it. I’ve been sick. Several times …’

His eyes took on a faraway look, and he would have fled back indoors had not several men taken hold of him. Their grip appearedto drive off the urgency of his need for a pail, but he was still apparently enfeebled.

‘He has spent the last night in the sheriff’s gaol,’ Baldwin reminded himself as he watched the man being tugged towards him. It was clear enough that Richard de Langatre was feeling weak, but Baldwin had seen others who had been pathetic and enfeebledafter committing murder.

‘I know nothing of this man’s death,’ Langatre said. ‘I was in the sheriff’s gaol all night, in God’s name. I only returned here a little while ago.’

‘And I was with the sheriff myself,’ Busse said eagerly. ‘I was with him all this morning until we arrived back here together,me and Richard here. I couldn’t have had a part in that man’s death!’

‘He is still warm,’ the coroner stated. ‘He has been dead only a very short time.’

‘But he can’t have been killed since we got back,’ Langatre protested. ‘We should have heard something.’

‘Perhaps. Perhaps not,’ the coroner said, his eyes going from one to the other. Coroner Richard was often thought to be afool because his voice was loud and he had an amiable demeanour — except when he felt he was being obstructed — but his mindwas as sharp as any, and it had been honed by listening to men who lied to him. Just now he was unsure how much these twomen knew, but he wasn’t convinced of their guilt. ‘What were you doing in your rooms?’

Busse leaned forward as he attempted to respond before Langatre could speak. ‘My friend here was offering me ale to thankme for rescuing him from the gaol. That is all.’

Coroner Richard looked at Langatre. ‘What else?’

‘There was nothing else,’ Busse said quickly.

‘I asked the man here, not you,’ Sir Richard shot back. ‘Well?’

Richard de Langatre licked his lips nervously. He knew that the monk wanted him to remain silent about his work, but as hestudied Sir Baldwin and Sir Richard he was suddenly reminded of the evening when they had come to his cell and promised tohelp him. Yes, even then he had been reluctant, but they had not been false. ‘I feel I can trust you to deal fairly with me,lordings. We came back here because brother Robert here wanted to consult me on a matter. He wished to know some details about his future, and it wasfor that consultation that he came here.’

‘Can you tell the future?’ Coroner Richard asked dubiously.

‘Better than anyone else in the city,’ Langatre said with certainty.

‘Did you learn anything interesting?’ Sir Baldwin asked.

‘Before I could perform the act, we discovered the body. It was brother Robert who insisted that we should investigate, too, I should say. He would hardly have done that unless he was innocent.’

Baldwin smiled. ‘I have known men who were bold enough to do just that. There are some who feel so safe in their brillianceat concealing their act that they bring it to the attention of the law without expecting to be discovered. Some even wishto be discovered. But I dare say you are correct. Brother Robert does not look much like a murderer.’

‘So who was the dead man?’ Simon asked.

‘I do not know,’ Busse said.

‘I had heard that there was a new tenant there, but I never met him,’ Langatre said. ‘My landlord, Michael, should know.’

‘Your fortune-telling fails you today?’ Baldwin asked suavely.

‘Who is this Michael, and where is he?’ Simon asked.

‘I am Michael.’