The Malice of Unnatural Death

Chapter Forty-Two

Exeter Gaol

Jen woke to a thin, grey light that scarcely managed to illuminate the far wall of the cell.

It was freezing down here. She tried to hunch herself into her clothing to conserve some heat, but it did little good. Notthat it would matter. She was going to die down here, no matter what happened.

There was a part of her that wanted, oh, so desperately wanted, to think that this was all a clever scheme on the part ofher Matthew to lull his wife into a sense of false security, so that he could remove her, and then install Jen as his lover. Perhaps it was only a plan whereby he would remove her from the public’s gaze, and put her in a small cottage of her own nearthe castle, so he could visit her each morning, and his wife know nothing more of it? There were women who lived like that,and although she didn’t think it was completely honourable …

No! She had to stop that line of thought! He didn’t love her. It had been in his eyes yesterday when he had told his men tobind her. It was not love in his eyes, it was not even feigned indifference; it was hatred … disgust — terror, perhaps- but not love. The sight of her repelled him.

‘Sweet Mother, holy Mother Mary, save me!’ she whispered. It was like having two lives: one in which she and her lover plotted to remove the sole obstacle to their happiness, a second in which sheherself was the evil impediment to his joy, and the two lives constantly in dispute with each other inside her head. She didn’tknow which was telling her the truth at any moment. Just now it felt as though the story that she herself was at fault, thatthe sheriff had never desired her, let alone planned to leave his wife for her, was the more truthful, but in a moment sheknew that the other side of her would return and scornfully remind her of the look in his eyes when they had passed in thescreens corridor, or that time when he had met her at the top of the stairs and they had flirted … Which was true?

The door opened without warning, and she fled to the wall at the farthest side of the room. It was only a man-at-arms witha bowl of food, though, and he set it down near the door, as far from her as possible, before swiftly turning and leavingagain.

It wasn’t only the sheriff. All his men were terrified of her too.

Sunday, Feast of St Catherine⁹

Exeter City

John was already awake. He was bitterly cold, wrapped up in his clothes and with his blanket over him, but today would seethe culmination of his efforts, with good fortune.

Others would have sat in the background and avoided any danger. That was not his way. It was important that he learned what happened. A man who kept away from the results of his work would never truly reach the highest level of knowledge. No. Far better that he should go and perform the operation while he could see the victim. Learn what he could from the work. Witness the result.

Robert le Mareschal had understood that. That was why he had agreed to go and view the last agonies of de Sowe. It wasn’tperfect, though. The man had largely undergone his suffering out of sight of Robert and John. Better by far that the experimentshould be nearer to hand, so that he could see what happened stage by stage.

The light was grey and dull. A good day to die, he reflected as he rolled over, trying to stop his teeth chattering, and lethimself down from his attic with a small bump. In his hand he held the one figure. The others would lie up in the roofspacehe had left. Later he would come and fetch them, when he was sure that he understood the impact of his magic. Outside, hestood a moment wrapping the waxen figure in a fold of his cloak.

Did he say a good day to die? No: it was a good day to kill. Especially that misbegotten son of a whore, Walter Stapledon.

‘So you slept a bit better, eh?’

Baldwin lurched to wakefulness, his eyes widening in shock as he heard Simon’s voice. There was a chuckle as the bailiff walkedround the room pulling on his shirt and hosen. ‘If you want some breakfast before visiting the cathedral, you’d best hurry.’

‘I’ll be ready in a moment,’ Baldwin said, rubbing a hand over his face. He felt rough and unrested, for all that he had sleptlong beyond dawn. He needed more sensible exercise, that was it. Less of this sitting in smoky taverns where the highest aspiration to hygiene was the annual replacement of therushes on the floor; more riding his horse and practising with his sword. That was what he needed.

Not much chance of it here, though. Certainly not today. He had to get to the cathedral church to avoid insulting the bishop,and with his intention to refuse to accept the bishop’s offer to become a member of the parliament, insulting him in any otherway was beyond contemplation.

He got up from his bed, scratching idly at the bites under his armpit where some bug had got to him overnight, and gazed abouthim at the room, a wave of dissatisfaction washing over him.

In the last year or two he had spent too much time away from his own bed. He had a young child whom he wanted to see growing,and his wife had another baby in her womb even now. It was wrong for him to be here, miles away in Exeter, when she was aloneat his manor. That was where he belonged, with her.

If he were honest, though, he should not be here in any case. His life was a fraud. Although he held the position of Keeperof the King’s Peace, if his background as a Knight Templar became known the king would remove him from his post in an instant. And if the Templars had not suffered arrests and destruction, he would not be here. He would still be in the preceptory in Paris, a bearded knight ever training to return to the Holy Land to free it from the hordes of Moors who had overrun the Christianterritories. Perhaps he would be dead, killed by a Muslim arrow or scimitar, in which case this new life was actually a rebirthof sorts. Perhaps he ought to think of new ways of working for the realm, to protect it from the ravages of barons like Hugh le Despenser. He had been saved from the pyre … was it possible that he was saved for something more important?

‘God’s teeth!’ he muttered, and completed his dressing. There was no more singular arrogance than that of a man who felt thathis life had a mystical purpose to it. Clad in his red tunic, he went to join Simon and the coroner at their table.

The fire was sparking fitfully in the corner, and the smoke was forming an unpleasant pall beneath the roof. Baldwin casta look up at it. The trouble was, so often a householder in a city like this found himself being passed off with rubbishywood for his fires. There was sometimes little to tell whether a bough was of good wood or rotten, whether it had been properlydried, or whether it was simply wood that was bad for burning, like elm.

‘I think that the good host of the tavern has been rooked by a deceitful woodseller,’ he muttered as he joined his friends.

Rob looked at the fire. ‘It’s the fault of the boy who laid the fire. He ought to know what wood will burn and what won’t.’

‘And you’re the expert?’ Simon scoffed. ‘You are hardly out of your bed in time to see the fire being laid when you’re athome in Dartmouth.’

‘You let the boy lie in his bed?’ the coroner asked, his mouth full of bread. He cocked an eye at Rob. ‘Didn’t I tell youyour duties last time I was in Dartmouth?’

‘And I do them, sir. My master is making fun,’ Rob said with a scowl at Simon.

Baldwin shook his head. ‘Never let your servants get the better of you, Simon. If he’s lazy, give him a good beating every so often. That’s what he needs.’

‘You may not think it much, but it’s a lot better than other fires I’ve seen,’ the coroner said. ‘Anyway, you should pitythose without a fire this fine morning.’

‘There can’t be many who survive without a fire at this time of year,’ Baldwin said. ‘I suppose that man Robinet may be withoutone, if he has taken refuge in some quiet little out-of-the-way place.’

‘True. I was thinking of the girl, though. The demented one in the gaol. She’ll be suffering for her illness.’

‘Which? The one who killed the servant outside Langatre’s house?’

‘Yes. Didn’t you know? She’s in the sheriff’s gaol. Poor little thing. The devil’s got her, right enough.’

‘Is she really lunatic, then?’ Simon asked with a shudder. He hated the sight of the mad, drooling and shouting at people.

The coroner was largely of the same opinion. ‘Yes. Thought the sheriff fancied getting inside her skirts so much that he’dappreciate her killing his wife to facilitate matters. Well, she’ll have a while to reconsider her foolishness in his gaol,and then he’ll have her neck stretched.’

Baldwin shook his head, appalled. ‘That is barbaric, though. The poor chit has a demon in her, but the sheriff should be consultingpeople as to the best way to remove it, not trying to have her executed for something that is beyond her control.’

‘Baldwin, you can’t tell us that a mad woman who has killed her friend and now wants to murder the sheriff’s wife shouldn’tbe kept secure.’

‘Secure, yes — in a hospital where her demons can be exorcised without harming her any more. She is no more responsible for her actions in harming the other servant than we are, if she has a demon inside her.’

The coroner grunted affably. ‘You are too kind-hearted for your own good, Keeper. Look, she must be guilty of some gross sinto be afflicted with this. Either some perversion or a crime. Why else would God have visited this dreadful punishment onher? Better, probably, that she is simply hanged.’

‘What, would you punish the child for something she cannot be held responsible for? It is madness indeed to hang her for anact that was the responsibility of the demon inside her,’ Baldwin declared.

‘What would you do, then?’ Simon asked.

‘Why not bring her to the cathedral with us? Ask the bishop whether he can do something to cure her?’ Baldwin said.

‘You are joking!’ Coroner Richard said. ‘Think what harm she could do in the church with the congregation there.’

‘We could do her a great deal of good, with any fortune,’ Baldwin said harshly. ‘The bishop should be able to drive out herdemons and save her. After all, even if she did kill the servant, she cannot be held guilty. Remove the demon and see whethershe could have done it on her own.’

Coroner Richard drained his cup, then leaned back and considered Baldwin, chewing the last of the bread ruminatively. It wasa bizarre idea, but no worse than flogging the girl. And he couldn’t help but remember how small and thin and frail she hadlooked when she had been knocked down. Little more than a child in reality. He swallowed and decided.

‘Well, if you’re serious, we’d best go to the castle and tell the sheriff that we want to try it.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. And his eyes went to Rob.

At least it was only a short walk to the castle. But it was ruddy freezing, Rob told himself bitterly. The weather was miserable,too. Not wet, but it was surely colder than a witch’s tits.

‘Hi, boy. You getting the keeper’s breakfast?’

He looked up to see the beadle, Elias. ‘We’ve eaten,’ he snarled. ‘I’m just off to the gaol.’

Elias shrugged as Rob explained about the girl. ‘Your master and his friends must be mad. Easier to just have her hanged. If there’s a demon inside her, that’d let it out fast enough!’

Rob nodded as he carried on his way. Yeah, it would be better. At least he could have stayed by the fire then, rather thantrudging through the cold and damp to the castle.

Waking, he looked about him sadly.

Walter had bought this place only a few years ago. At the time he had thought that his life was going to change, as he hadrepeatedly told Robinet over the last days until his death. Well, now it had changed.

Thinking about that sad little body lying before the door in Langatre’s undercroft made him feel the sadness again. That manhad been his only real friend for many years. When Robinet arrived in Exeter, the two of them had immediately felt the bondbetween them renewed, as though they had never parted. And, now they were parted for ever.

He left the place with a few coins from the purse on the window-ledge, walked the hundred or so yards to Cooks’ Row, keepinga wary eye open for anyone who showed a little too much interest in him, and ordered himself a good meat pie. Eating it slowly, he went round the back to the littlealehouse at the corner of two alleys. It was a rowdy place even at this time in the morning, and he knew that no one in therewould be looking for him. The only people who could be on his tail would stand out too distinctly in here. It was the sortof place he could enjoy a form of anonymity.

Where had the murderous bastard got to? He had thought he could get some answers from Michael, but the interference of thatpathetic imitation sorcerer had put paid to that. If he’d been able, he could have silenced Langatre, but there was no tellingwhat Ivo would do while he was making the man shut up. Anyone with a stout staff was a threat to be considered when his loyaltywas in doubt. And there was certainly no love between him and Ivo. No, none.

Where was John? With any luck he had fallen into a ditch and his decomposed remains would be found late in the summer. Butthere was no way to tell whether he was dead or not. Better to assume he was still alive for now, and find him. There wasnothing he wanted more than to see John’s head on a spike outside the city wall as a warning to all those who dared kill hisfriends.

If he didn’t know where John was, perhaps the Watch had been luckier. A beadle could have stumbled over his corpse in thenight. And if he hadn’t, a beadle could maybe tell him what the city’s officers had been doing overnight to hunt the bastarddown.

He drained his cup and left the alehouse quietly by the little side door. Soon he was walking down the alley where Ivo andhis mother lived, and when he came to it he stood in a doorway some distance away and surveyed the street, making sure thatthe measly little prickle hadn’t thought to protect himself with a couple of roughs who would look for him in case he returned again.

No. There was nothing. Confident that the alley itself held no threat to him, he sauntered to the door and knocked.

It opened quickly, and Ivo stood gaping before him. A hand planted firmly on his breast gave him the hint, and he walked backwards,still silent.

When the door was shut, Ivo’s mother, who had been huddled by the fire, turned and scowled. ‘What do you want here?’

‘Mother, I only want to learn what happened yesterday. Ivo? Did they get him?’

‘No. After you disappeared we spent the afternoon searching high and low for him, but none of us had any luck. Half the timethe coroner seemed to want us to find you more than the stranger.’

‘Fortunately no one did, though. What are they going to do today?’

‘They’re not. They’re fetching a demented girl to take to the bishop to see if he can exorcise her demons.’

‘That would be worth seeing.’

Ivo nodded. He had seen plenty of exorcisms in his time. The shrieking and screaming was quite entertaining in its own way. As good as a hanging. This way, perhaps they’d have the exorcism and then the hanging later, both from the same girl. He wasso taken up with his thoughts for a moment or two that he didn’t notice the man’s expression change suddenly.

‘What day is it?’

Ivo shot a look at his mother. ‘St Catherine’s Day?’

All knew of St Catherine of Alexandria. The noblewoman who refused to marry the emperor of Rome and defended her Christian faith even when they threatened to kill her on the wheel. She had disputed her religion with fifty philosophersand won, and had stood up for …

Robinet stood as the realisation struck.

‘We must get to the cathedral!’