The Traitor of St Giles

Chapter Twenty-Four

John Sherman broke off a profitable conversation as the priest came closer, chewing on a pie with an expression that would have soured milk.

‘It was good of you to bring my wife back, Father. The streets can be dangerous during the Fair.’

‘It was a pleasure.’

His voice hardly expressed enthusiasm, Sherman noted. ‘She was with you early, she said.’

‘Yes. A little after dawn,’ the priest said with conviction.

‘And you listened to her confession?’

Father Abraham looked at Sherman unblinkingly. ‘I can’t discuss that, of course.’

‘Of course, Father. I wouldn’t dream… No, I was just worried about her. When she wasn’t in her room this morning.’

‘Then you shouldn’t be. A woman needs to attend church as often as possible.’ The priest’s gaze flitted over to where Cecily Sherman stood talking and laughing with a group of three men about her. In a lull, she looked over the room and her eyes met Father Abraham’s. She smiled and lifted her cup in a toast, and he turned away guiltily.

‘Do you mean my wife in particular?’ Sherman asked.

‘No.’

Sherman shook his head.

Taking pity on him, Father Abraham gave him a smile. ‘Sherman, God has given you health and wealth. You must concentrate on how to improve the lot of those poorer than yourself rather than worrying about things which do not matter. Give alms to the poor, help the Church to look after peasants who have a vocation for the religious life, and share your money with schools to help men to spread God’s goodness with the rest of mankind.’ Sherman smiled, but as he walked away to talk to another man, Father Abraham saw his expression, and it was grim and forbidding.

‘No more than the whoring bitch deserves,’ the priest muttered to himself.

‘We have been talking to Nicholas,’ Baldwin said, leaning back as the serving maid set jugs and pots before them.

‘He told you about Sir Gilbert meeting him in town?’ Harlewin asked shrewdly.

‘Yes. It seems to have been innocent from Nicholas’s point of view.’

‘That was what I thought when he mentioned it. And of course the knight got back to his camp. If Nicholas wanted him dead, he’d have stabbed him here in the town. Why let him escape and have to go through the charade of executing Dyne nearby?’

‘He was able to tell us a bit more about how Dyne was caught as well,’ Simon said pointedly.

‘Aha?’ Harlewin’s expression implied that he was fighting manfully to show interest.

‘He told us he paid for Dyne’s release.’

‘Bollocks.’

Baldwin blinked. ‘But he told us he and Andrew Carter paid to ensure that Dyne was allowed to escape so that they could go after him and execute him.’

‘He lied. No one bribed me: no one ever has. I only let go those who I think deserve to be freed or those who the law says I must.’

‘So Nicholas never paid you?’

‘No.’

Simon chewed his lip. ‘Baldwin, didn’t he say that they paid Father Abraham, and he agreed so as to ensure the release of Dyne?’

‘Yes… But the priest told them the money would go to the Coroner.’

‘More fool them. If they wanted to know how to influence me, they should have asked me, not sought to buy me through a con man. So, you are still enquiring about Sir Gilbert’s death?’

Baldwin was evasive. ‘We did want to follow up a couple of points.’

‘When you know I’ve already closed the matter?’ Harlewin demanded testily. ‘I am the Coroner here, you know. On what grounds do you claim the right to investigate the affair?’

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. The Coroner was quite right. They had no jurisdiction – Harlewin had full authority in this matter unless they could appeal him for incompetence or corruption.

Simon smiled soothingly. ‘We don’t want to step on your toes, but–’

‘Balls, Bailiff, if you’ll pardon the expression. You want to look into it because you think I took someone’s money.’ Harlewin scowled, but then gave a short sigh. ‘Oh, very well. I daresay an order to you both to leave the matter would have as much impact as telling Father Abraham to leave wine alone.’

Baldwin smiled and ran a finger round the rim of his pot. ‘Did you mean the good Father Abraham was taking bribes?’

‘Can you call it a bribe when he never intended to do anything for the money? I suppose if I hadn’t agreed to release Dyne, he would have told them that I had behaved dishonourably, but what could he do? I had taken the money and then failed to comply with their wishes. Disgraceful!’ He laughed. ‘I can hear the old hypocrite saying it!’

Simon still looked doubtful. ‘You mean you never take bribes?’

‘Bailiff, I know all Coroners are tarred with the brush that says they are corrupt as hell, but I seem to recall hearing that all bailiffs are thieves as well. Does that make you a felon?’

‘A good point,’ Baldwin grinned. ‘So the worthy priest is taking money. That puts an interesting slant on things. Tell me, how do you find him?’

‘He’s a fool. Full of himself, and likes the chink of coins in his purse, but he’s a good clerk. Keeps the Coroner’s Rolls neatly. What more can I say? He charges too much from people for writing up his notes, but many clerks do. Beyond that, he doesn’t like little boys, which is good in a priest, and doesn’t go whoring after any wench in a skirt, which makes him rare. But he will go on at people who fail in his eyes, which can be tedious.’

‘He often rails at you? Baldwin guessed.

Harlewin raised a pot and smiled.

‘What for? Women?’

‘How did you guess?’

‘How many obvious failings are there?’ Baldwin wondered aloud. He had not altered his original opinion of the Coroner as fat and foolish, but he had to admit to himself that Harlewin had a certain charm about him. Baldwin could see how some women could be attracted to the man.

Harlewin finished his pot and topped it up.

‘How was your corpse last night?’ Simon enquired.

‘Bailiff, the man effected a wonderful recovery. He had been bruised badly on his forehead and everyone thought he’d been hit by a club, but it happens he came to and declared he’d walked into a door while drunk. Clumsy, but no need for a Coroner.’

‘So you returned immediately?’ Baldwin pressed him.

‘No, Sir Knight. It was out on my lands towards Withleigh, and I thought I’d rest there the night. There seemed little point making the journey back here in the dark.’

Baldwin had to smile at the man’s confidence. It was plain as the nose on his face that he was lying, for only the death of an important man would justify the Coroner’s leaving his lord’s feast. The corpse would still be there in the morning, and yet Harlewin had jumped up from the table as soon as the message had arrived. Only an obvious corpse would justify sending a messenger in the middle of the night, and yet this man had apparently leaped to his feet as soon as Harlewin arrived. There was no point in sending to verify the tale – Harlewin had said as much by letting them know the fellow was from his own estate. ‘I am glad he recovered. Naturally if someone was to go and check his wound they would find him badly bruised?’

Harlewin grinned but said nothing.

It was with a feeling of intense relief that Father Abraham heard the bells ring; he could now decently leave the house. Rising, he made his apologies to John Sherman, who scarcely paid him any heed, he was so deeply involved in a talk about Mediterranean wines and how to acquire them safely when Venetian galleys kept raiding shipping.

Walking to the door, the priest was about to leave when he felt a tug at his sleeve, and found Cecily Sherman at his side.

‘Are you leaving so soon, Father?’

‘I have much to do for the next service.’

‘Oh, don’t be so formal, Father.’

‘How do you expect me to behave with a woman who has blackmailed me?’

She chuckled. ‘Come, now. It’s nothing too dangerous, is it? And if your conscience gives you trouble, why, remind it that I would have been forced to suffer indignities and pain if you hadn’t backed up my story.’

‘You forced me to lie! You threatened to tell everyone otherwise.’

‘About your taking the knight’s horse? Yes, well, I hardly think that’s blackmail. I only pointed out that I should have reported your theft, after all.’

He glared at her. She was plump and attractive, but at this moment all he could see was how slender her throat looked. If he had the courage he would put out his hands and grasp it.

She continued, ‘And if everyone would then think, “Aha! so it was Father Abraham who killed the knight,” that would hardly be my fault.’

‘I didn’t kill him!’

‘No? Well, you have to admit it looks rather suspicious.’ She patted his cheek, smiled, and whirled around to return to the hall.

‘God forgive me, but I hate that bitch!’ Father Abraham hissed under his breath as he walked from the door and into the street. From here he could see his church, and he hurried to it, his steps given more urgency by his loathing of the woman behind. Only when he was almost at the gate to his yard did he slow, forcing himself to breathe more evenly and calmly.

At the church’s door he heard voices, and he paused, listening. After a moment he frowned and entered.

‘Felicity? And Avicia Dyne – what are you doing in here?’ he thundered.

‘So you weren’t seeing Cecily Sherman last night?’ Simon enquired mildly.

Harlewin choked on his drink. ‘Christ’s Bones! Who on earth…?’

‘We’ve been told you were with her the night Sir Gilbert died,’ Simon continued imperturbably. ‘That is why, it was put to us, you decided to murder Dyne – because you were womanising with Joan Carter, and something went wrong. You killed her to hide your rape, and arrested Dyne to conceal your crime.’

‘Me? Me rape her? Good God, man, do you realise what you’re saying? She was pleasant enough, but I wouldn’t have touched her – she was little better than a servant.’

‘John Sherman said you were in Earl Thomas’s pay,’ Baldwin mentioned as if idly.

‘I have helped him on occasion.’

‘For money?’ Simon pressed.

‘No! Anyway, what of Sherman? He’s not the most reliable man, you know. He keeps false measures. If officers go to check on him, he hides his bad ones in a compartment under his floor and shows only the good ones.’

Baldwin was not interested. ‘That is hardly our concern. Tell the Fair’s court. More important is that people have said you had Dyne confess so that your own crime would remain concealed and, when you could, you released him so that he could be killed by the girl’s father.’

Harlewin stared, then made a weak gesture. ‘You’ve certainly listened to a lot of gossip. All I can say is, it’s rubbish. I didn’t touch the girl. To be frank, Cecily Sherman has taken up my spare time lately, and when she wasn’t available, there was always Felicity or another prostitute in the town. I never had reason to hurt a woman who didn’t want me.

‘As for this stuff about Dyne – I didn’t arrest the sod, he escaped! He ran to sanctuary as soon as he realised he was being sought. I spoke to him there, but that was all. It’s my duty to speak to a felon claiming sanctuary, to ask them to surrender to arrest, but he refused. Said he knew he’d never get a fair trial.’

‘How did he seem?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Scared. How does any felon look when he’s been surrounded by the posse? He was there at the altar clinging onto that filthy scrap of linen they use for an altar cloth staring at me like he couldn’t believe he’d been found out.’

‘Or perhaps he couldn’t believe that he had been accused of killing his woman?’ Simon suggested.

Harlewin gave a dismissive snort.

‘Maybe he was simply horrified to learn that the woman he had intended marrying was dead,’ Baldwin mused.

‘It’s fine to speculate – all I know is that he was accused and confessed.’

‘Did he give any reason why he’d never get a fair trial?’

‘Made up some cock-and-bull story about the girl’s father seeing to it he’d never be freed. Said Andrew Carter would pay off the jury.’

Baldwin scratched his ear. In his experience, when a jury presented the facts of a case before the justices, all too often the matter had already been decided in the jury’s collective mind. Usually that merely reflected the jury’s acceptance that the felon was a man with ‘common fame’, a notorious criminal; they would have him installed in gaol as quickly as possible. But often a rich man would seek to ensure the result he wanted by bribing officials or jurors to release his friends and adherents – or to punish his enemies. Philip Dyne would naturally have feared Carter’s reaction. Carter was rich: he could afford to bribe any number of jurors against him.

‘What then?’ asked Baldwin.

‘When he’d completed his time in there and made plain his willingness to abjure the realm, I made sure he confessed before witnesses and set him loose. No bribe, no arrest, just performing my duties. And when Andrew Carter and his brother looked dangerous, I held them back. I even drew my sword against them, if you would believe it!’

‘Where were you on the night Sir Gilbert and Philip Dyne were killed?’

Harlewin opened his mouth – Baldwin was convinced he was about to lie – but then the Coroner shrugged and grinned. ‘Why should I lie? I was with Cecily. As I was last night, really. Why hide it, if you already know her name? I was with her on the night those two died, at a mill I own to the west.’

‘Near Templeton?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Not far from it, yes. I rode back from there with Cecily during the night. We heard a lot of noise in the woods, and I sent her on to protect her, drawing my sword. Only a few moments later a man came out. Now I know it was Sir Gilbert, but then all I knew was that he looked dangerous to me: he had his sword out, and when he caught sight of me he demanded to know who I was. Well, I told him I was the Coroner, and he looked relieved. He said he was helping apprehend a felon and I promised to stay in the road in case the felon darted back that way to escape. Then Sir Gilbert turned and rode back into the woods.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I waited there quite some while, but saw nothing of Dyne. Actually I have to confess that I was surprised to hear that the fool had decided to turn outlaw. I wouldn’t have expected it of him. However, it had to be true if a knight like this fellow Sir Gilbert was helping seek him.’

‘Did you hear anything of Sir Gilbert’s death?’

‘I remained there for a while. There was one Godawful scream – I assumed it was Dyne. I saw no sign of anyone and it didn’t seem a good idea to go wandering about in the woods with three armed men on the loose so I just headed for home.’

‘Did you see anyone else on your way?’

‘There was no one on the road. Well, only one person, but he couldn’t have had anything to do with all this.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Father Abraham. I saw him come out of the woods and ride back for Tiverton as if all the hounds of Hell were on his arse.’

Much later, when Harlewin had left them, Wat waited until the last of the servants had left the buttery, and then wandered inside and filled a pot of wine. It tasted good and he finished it swiftly, refilling it.

The castle wasn’t so bad really, he told himself as he took a comfortable seat between the barrels behind the bar. It was just a bit quiet, and if he was lonely, surely that would change as people came back from the Fair. For now this was a pleasant, quiet room, and he might as well sit here with a drink while he waited.

Hearing voices from the yard, he jerked awake. Too often in the past his master had found him in the Furnshill buttery and tanned his hide. Hurriedly Wat emptied his pot and rose to his feet, dashing from the place. At the doorway, he was about to slip out when he saw the Coroner outside.

‘Hey! You, Toker, come here!’

Wat waited until they should have gone before slipping out. Harlewin was talking in a low voice to Toker, but soon the two parted as another man entered the castle’s gate. Toker beckoned him, calling, ‘Perkin!’

Before Wat could fix an innocent expression to his face and go out to the courtyard, he saw the two approach. Swiftly he dived back into the buttery, ducking down between two of the farther barrels.

‘Kicked me right up the arse, did Puttock, the bastard!’ the man called Perkin was complaining. ‘If I can get near him he’ll never do that again, the shit!’

‘I’ve already said you can kill him, all right? But the knight too, the black-bearded sodomite from Furnshill – we take him as well,’ Toker said. ‘There’s no point killing the bailiff alone. We have to kill his friend too.’