The Malice of Unnatural Death

Chapter Seven

Tavistock Abbey

Simon had not been in a good mood the next morning when he had woken up. All too soon he had remembered the half-grin on de Courtenay’sface as he delivered the final blow: bad enough that he should want Simon to follow a man who might well be consulting a maleficus — someone who might take offence at being followed even to the extent of having Simon murdered. And by supernatural powers,not even the normal, everyday risks of a knife in an alley.

Anyone who knew Simon knew of his … caution when it came to matters of superstition. There were some, like Baldwin, who thought that his attitude bordered on the fringesof credulousness — or worse. Simon didn’t care. So far as he was concerned, the idea of magic was nothing new, and he hadpersonally seen people who had used it to cure cattle of various diseases. They would incant a phrase or mumble some weirdwords, and in the time it took the farmer to get back to his house, the animal would be cured. And there were evil spiritswho could be used to attack people who stood in the path of their human patrons. Simon had heard of plenty of examples ofthat kind of evil: where people were harmed, or their libido destroyed, or their energy sapped, and all because of an evil-doer.

The idea of chasing after someone of that kind was enough to make his flesh creep.

He rose and dressed slowly in the old guesthouse above the main gate, kicking Rob as he passed the lad snoring gently in thecorner of the room on a thin palliasse. Rob muttered a comment concerning Simon’s parentage, but today Simon was not of amood to listen, and instead strode downstairs to fetch himself some food to break his fast.

It was a cold day, with white and grey clouds hanging in the air as though plastered to the sky. Simon sniffed: there wasa metallic edge to the air, and he was unhappy with the thin, insubstantial sunlight that filtered through the clouds. Althoughtheir edges gleamed silver, the sun kept herself behind them, and Simon had a horrible suspicion that this was to be the rulefor the day. At best they would be chilled by the icy breeze as they rode, and at worst they would be drenched in freezingrain. It was not a prospect to thrill.

He found a warm loaf in the bakery, and sat on a bench nearby with a slab of cold sausage. An amiable monk made an offer ofwarmed ale, which Simon accepted with alacrity, and when he was feeling a little more normal he went to seek Robert Busse.

A helpful monk pointed him in the direction of the cloister, and Simon soon found the man who sought to grasp the abbacy beforede Courtenay could. Busse nodded to Simon, and then led the way down a short corridor to a chamber.

Busse was a genial man, a little taller than the old abbot had been, but considerably shorter than the younger de Courtenay. He had pleasantly rounded features, twinkling blue eyes, a high brow and, when he spoke, a soft tenor voice. More than that,though, Simon was aware of a chuckle that was always nearby. He appeared to be on the brink of laughter all the while.

‘So you are the bailiff? Aha! Good. Just what I need to make sure that I get to Exeter in one piece.’

‘With the weather the way it is now, I doubt we’ll be there in less than a day and a half at least,’ Simon said grimly.

‘That soon? I had hoped for a pause at a tavern or two, Bailiff. Especially if this inclement weather continues. It’s toochill for a body to sit a horse for too long — and woe betide the man who tries to sit out in this stuff.’

‘I cannot argue with that,’ Simon said.

Busse tilted his head and studied Simon. ‘Are you quite all right?’

‘Yes. I am fine.’

‘I know that this must be a rather sore and tedious task for you, Bailiff, but I will try to make it as pleasant as possible. You must have covered the journey many times in your term of office as a stannary bailiff.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Simon smiled without humour. ‘I’ve certainly made the journey many times.’

‘Well, it is a long way to go. Perhaps we should fetch our belongings and meet down in the court?’

Simon left him and strode ill-temperedly to the guest house again, where he found that Rob had disappeared. ‘God’s fist! Thelittle sodomite is going to hold us up,’ he muttered as he returned down the stairs with his pack in his hand, and gazed abouthim. On a hunch, he paced across the cobbled yard to the stables, and peered inside.

‘Go on, another ha’penny.’

‘I’ll lay on.’

‘And me.’

‘I’ll pay later …’

‘No, you don’t,’ Rob said, and then caught sight of his master in the doorway.

‘What is this?’ Simon demanded, entering the gloomy interior. There were four youths inside, three grooms, and, Simon sawwith a sharp pang of guilt, a novice too. ‘Rob, tell me you aren’t tempting these fellows into gambling?’

‘Gambling? Hardly that, Bailiff. No, it’s more a sort of trial, that’s all.’

The others were hurriedly gathering up coins and thrusting them into their purses. If any were discovered here gambling during Abbot Robert’s tenure, they’d have been given short shrift — or maybe not. The good abbot was no hypocrite, and he was a manof contrasting interests himself. Perhaps if he had found the lads there, he would have pretended anger, and then insistedthat they joined him in a game too, so that he could fleece them and thereby give them a clear and unforgettable demonstrationof the evils of gambling.

‘What sort of trial?’

Rob shamefacedly held up a number of dice. ‘Just a game,’ he amended. ‘Hazard.’

‘Put the things away, Rob. And don’t let me see you trying to take money from others like that. In God’s name, taking cashfrom a novice!’

‘It’s what we all do in Dartmouth to while away the time. If they aren’t so practised, it’s hardly my fault,’ Rob said heatedly.

‘Enough. You’ll have time to reflect on your actions later as we ride. You’re too late for breakfast now. You will just haveto make do.’

‘Oh, I’ve had my breakfast, master. And I’ve got some vittles for the journey, too. Enough for three meals.’

Simon blinked. ‘How did you do that?’

‘Well, I played them for it. The novice was taking all this food from the kitchen to the servants somewhere, so I played himat dice for it, and then the others wanted to join in too, so I took their money. It would have been daft not to.’

‘What of the horses?’

‘They’re already tethered to the rail by the gate. I had the grooms promise to do them before I’d play them at any games inhere.’

Simon took three paces back and peered across the yard. True enough, there were three horses, two riding beasts and one packhorse,ready loaded, out near the gate. And as he stood staring, he caught sight of Busse standing and gazing up at the sun.

‘Oh. Right. Yes. Well, come on! We’re late,’ Simon said.

The Bishop’s Palace

‘Coroner, it is good to see you again!’ Baldwin said, smiling broadly as Richard de Welles entered.

‘Keeper!’ de Welles boomed as he saw the knight. ‘Good to see you too. Ha!’ He glanced about the room, nodding to the sheriff.‘This reminds me of a story about a young whore and a …’ He suddenly recalled whose room he was in and cast an apologeticglance towards the bishop. ‘Ah, a good day to you, my Lord Bishop … Sir Matthew. But that’s not why I’m here. No, I wasgoing to ask you for your assistance, Keeper. I heard the sheriff was here, and the man at the castle said you would be herewith him.’

‘I am here to be commanded,’ Baldwin replied. ‘What is it you wish from me?’

‘Is it a matter for the keeper, or for me?’ the sheriff demanded, somewhat petulantly.

‘A man has been murdered out near the South Gate, and I fear it’s a matter which will affect the whole city if something is notdone about it, and that swiftly. A king’s messenger …’

The bishop’s head snapped up. ‘What was that?’

‘Yes, Bishop. A youngish lad, with a shock of chestnut hair, green eyes and a kind of oval face. His cheek is marked witha ragged scar, as though someone has stabbed at him with a blunt or jagged blade, and …’

‘I know him,’ Sheriff Matthew declared.

‘Ah, good,’ the coroner said with satisfaction. ‘I knew this matter could soon be cleared up. What was his name?’

‘His name? I have no idea! He was just a messenger, not someone I would chat with.’

‘My lord?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I am afraid he was quite new to me. I did not know his name.’

Baldwin’s eyebrows rose. Messengers trusted by the king tended to be insiders at court, and he would have expected a wilypolitician like the bishop to have a great interest in speaking to them and showing himself to be courteous and friendly. After all, whether he liked the messenger or not, the messenger would have the ear of the king.

Stapledon had turned to face him. ‘Sir Baldwin, this is most important. You must go with the good coroner and investigatethis killing. Is that clear? I want to know if he was murdered for his money, or whether it was something more serious.’

Baldwin exchanged a look with the coroner. ‘Bishop, this man — he was a messenger, so had he come here to give you a message?’

‘Yes. And I sent him away with a response. It is a most important document. You have to seek it.’

‘It may well still be on him. What sort of document is it?’

The bishop glanced away from Baldwin, and appeared to be staring out through the window. ‘Sir Baldwin, if he has it still,it is a small parchment some four inches long, with my own personal seal at the top, and the seal of the Lord High Treasurerin the middle to secure it. I cannot emphasise strongly enough how important it is that the document is found. The thing isincredibly sensitive. You have to find it.’

Baldwin sighed with some exasperation. ‘Very well. Coroner, you will have searched the man’s clothing. What was in his pouch?’

‘There were messages there, but I did not feel free to rifle about in the king’s business. I didn’t look.’

‘What is in the document?’ Baldwin asked the bishop. ‘If you want me to find it, you have to tell me what I am looking for.’

‘Sir Baldwin, I cannot. You will know it if you find it. Just search the man and see if it is there. I must press you — itis enormously important to me!’