City of Fiends

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Rougemont Castle

The news that Sir Richard de Welles had arrived and would like a few words with him did not please Sir James de Cockington. ‘Where is Sir Baldwin? It was him I expected to see.’

Sir Richard was standing in the doorway, while Sir James remained seated. It was a calculated insult; and one that Sir Richard had no intention of allowing. He crossed the floor to the cupboard and, gently pushing the steward aside, poured himself a large goblet of wine before he responded, hitching his hip onto the cupboard’s top.

‘You have several problems, Sir Sheriff. The Bishop is dead, you have two murder victims in your city, and you have news that the King’s father, Sir Edward of Caernarfon, has escaped from Berkeley Castle. Also, a priest has run from the Cathedral. I can aid you with one of these. I will raise a posse to hunt down this Father Laurence and bring him back. The other matters are your affair.’

‘You try to tell me what you will and will not do?’ Sir James stood. ‘You will do as I command. I am the Sheriff of the city!’

‘And I am Coroner in Lifton,’ Sir Richard said, and drained his goblet before setting it down and idly walking towards the Sheriff.

Sheriff James was alarmed by the sight of the older warrior approaching, but dared not jump from his chair because that would display fear. ‘You should make yourself available to me!’

Sir Richard stood over him, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he purred, ‘Sheriff, are you going to threaten me?’

‘I could have you arrested if you try to injure me! I am the King’s man!’

‘So am I, Sheriff. So am I. And we have enough to trouble us already without falling out. Do you see to Exeter, and I will go to learn what I may about this fellow, Laurence. I’ve met him, so I will know him when I see him. And Sheriff,’ he added, ‘when you are older, you will realise that to gain a man’s respect, first you should respect him.’

Alley off Combe Street

‘What do you think, Simon?’ Baldwin muttered as the Coroner withdrew from Juliana’s body.

Simon swallowed hard. ‘I think I need to get away from here.’

Baldwin flashed a grin. ‘What of the man there – see?’

He was indicating Gregory Paffard, and Simon turned to the boy in relief; it was good to be able to look away from Juliana’s poor, ravaged features. The sight of the lipless face was deeply unnerving.

The fellow at whom Baldwin directed his attention looked as distressed as Simon felt. As Gregory looked up, Simon’s gaze reached him, and their eyes locked for an instant.

‘Baldwin, you’re right;’ Simon muttered. ‘That fellow is more distressed than Juliana’s sons. What on earth is going on?’

But Baldwin did not hear him – and when Simon saw Gregory turn and make his way out of the alley, he knew that he must follow him. Baldwin was busy listening to the Coroner while he spoke with a man who held the pig-boy tightly by the arm, so Simon pushed past those before him, and made off after Gregory.

The fellow led him away from the city and down to the wall itself.

‘What do you want with me?’ Gregory turned and demanded as Simon came out from the shadows of the alleyway and into the sunny patch of common land.

‘That depends on what you can tell me,’ Simon said.

Gregory was even more anxious and fretful at close quarters, Simon could see. All the while, his fingers played nervously with each other, while his face twitched and his eyes blinked with what was clearly a nervous reaction. Simon had seen youths before with that same kind of response – when they were worried, or when they felt guilty about something they didn’t want to confess.

‘I’ve nothing to tell you,’ the youth mumbled.

‘Where were you when Juliana was killed?’

‘In our hall. With my mother and sister. And Father Paul from Holy Trinity.’ This time, he spoke with more confidence, and the blinking slowed. Simon was sure that this was true.

‘What of the other death – when your own maid Alice was murdered?’

‘What of it?’ Gregory challenged him, but there was less conviction in his manner, and his nervous tic was evident once more.

‘Where were you that night?’

‘I was at my home.’

‘And the good priest?’

‘He wasn’t there, no.’

‘Was anyone else there with you?’

‘Well, we all were, sort of.’

‘Explain, boy.’

‘Don’t call me a boy, you churl!’

As he spoke, Gregory stepped forward, fists clenched, and swung. Simon was ready for him. Moving his torso back to avoid the punch, he grasped Gregory’s hand and pulled. The boy was already off-balance, and now he was drawn over Simon’s outstretched leg. Simon turned just a little, bent at the waist, and the lad tumbled to the ground in front of him, swearing and spitting like an enraged cat.

‘Shut up!’ Simon said. He felt better for the brief engagement, as though the physical effort had removed the memory of Juliana’s face. ‘Now, answer me. You said you all were, “sort of. What does that mean?’

‘What I said,’ Gregory snapped.

He was about to rise, but Simon put his boot on his chest. Gregory tried ineffectually to shove his leg away, but Simon pressed harder.

‘Say it again, then, boy.’

‘We all went to the inn together, my father, mother, me, Agatha.’

‘What of the maid, Alice?’

‘She stayed at home. We were there for a meal. What, you think we’d bring our servants with us?’

There was a sneer of bravado in his voice, and he began that blinking again. Looking down, Simon saw that his fingernails were bitten, some of them to the quick. He truly was living on his nerves. ‘Did you all stay there together?’

‘Yes. Apart from Father, who had forgotten his rosary and went home to fetch it. After he came back, my sister and I returned to the house.’

‘Was Alice there?’

‘I didn’t look for her. She was only a housemaid to me.’

‘Fine: when you returned home, was anyone there?’

‘The apprentice was hanging about in the hall. I sent him away. He’s a fool.’

‘I doubt your father would want a fool in his workshops.’

‘The fact that Benjamin is still working for my father proves that he is hardly bright. He could earn more with any other pewterer – and learn more.’

‘When your father left the inn, was it in order to tail the maid? She had been making love before she died, according to the inquest.’

‘Of course it was.’

‘And she was dead when you all returned,’ Simon stated.

Gregory said nothing, but Simon saw his gaze slide away from him.

‘So that is why you’re so nervous. You think he’s the killer too,’ Simon breathed.

Alley off Combe Street

Emma de Coyntes refused to feel guilty. This death, while sad, was not her responsibility. It didn’t matter how much Helewisia looked at her in that accusing way of hers, Emma wasn’t going to be a hypocrite and pretend a grief she didn’t feel. She hadn’t liked Juliana, and the fact that the woman was now dead was no reason for Emma to alter her opinion.

Helewisia and Claricia both kept staring at her, as though she’d done something wrong, but none of it was anything to do with her, any more than the death of Alice had been.

Her conscience was clear. She felt her husband’s Bydaud’s gaze on her, and stared back. The sadness in his eyes made her want to go and hug him. But she couldn’t. Not here, not now. Later.

Father Paul had stepped into the alley with a sense of dread engulfing him, as though the air here was somehow different from that in the rest of the city.

In some ways it was. The wind had picked up, bringing a constant reminder of the vats of excrement and piss out on Exe Island where the tanners worked. How any man could endure that life was incomprehensible to Father Paul. His eyes watering, he held a strip of his cowl over his nose and mouth as he went, but all the while that feeling of congestion in his breast would not leave him, and it only grew worse as he drew nearer to the group of men that comprised the inquest. ‘Dear God, don’t let me die before I right this,’ he murmured.

The Coroner threw him a bored glance as he approached, and continued with his questioning. Father Paul saw Baldwin, and purposely kept his distance from the knight. He didn’t like Baldwin’s dark, intense eyes. They made him feel as though he should divulge every secret he had ever possessed, and it was an uncomfortable sensation.

Juliana was there just as he remembered her from last night. Blood had blackened the mud about her, and her ravaged features were hideous to behold. How cruel, when only yesterday she had been a vibrant woman in her prime.

But Father Paul wasn’t here to see her. He had another purpose, and he would see it through. Licking dry lips, he blurted out, as loudly as he could: ‘I know why this woman was killed. I know why they were both killed!’

‘What? Who said that?’ the clerk demanded, stretching his neck to peer at the crowd. The Coroner too was now staring.

‘I spoke: Father Paul of Holy Trinity,’ the priest said, walking bravely forward. He was shivering with nerves, but then he had been scared before. This was no worse than that horrible occasion when he had first stood up in front of his own congregation. ‘I know who had reason to kill both of these women,’ he repeated.

‘You realise what you are saying?’ the Coroner said.

Sir Baldwin had stepped to his side, and spoke into his ear. ‘Father, I know you want to help, but reflect. This is a dangerous course on which you have embarked.’

‘I know what I do and say,’ Father Paul told him, and then he said, more loudly still, ‘I accuse Henry Paffard of the murder of his maid and of the murder of Juliana Marsille.’

‘Me?’ Henry Paffard said.

‘How do you answer?’ the Coroner said.

Father Paul felt his lip curl in contempt at the sight of the merchant. ‘Look at him!’ he cried. ‘Can any man here doubt his guilt? We must arrest him until he can be tried in the city court. He should be held securely so that the women of our city are safe. He killed Alice because she was demanding money from him, and then last night he killed Juliana. I know – I saw him arrive with his cloak on after Juliana’s death scream.’

The Coroner turned his attention back to the priest. ‘Seeing a man wearing a cloak is no proof of a crime!’

‘He came to my church on Monday, two days since, and threatened me with exposure as a whore’s gull and liar because he saw me giving alms to two poor women at my door. The man who threatened me had put on a sack to conceal his face, but he wore the cloak he wears now. Last night, when Juliana was slain, I was there in his house, and I recognised the cloak when he came home just after her death. It was the same as the one worn by the man at my house. I accuse him, therefore, of the murders.’

‘Henry Paffard! I ask you again, how do you answer?’ the Coroner repeated.

‘I admit it. I am the murderer.’

Baldwin, watching him, saw how he resolutely lifted his chin, but did not look from side to side, neither at his wife, nor at his son and daughter. He looked very little like a criminal. Most felons would have moaned and expressed remorse, but Henry Paffard stood erect and bold, for all the world more like a martyr than a villain.

Baldwin narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. There was, he felt sure, something amiss with this confession. And when he glanced at Gregory, he saw something he had never expected to see on the youth’s face.

It looked a lot like admiration.

Emma felt the shock rushing through her from her toes to her head. It was so powerful, she thought she must fall, and she rocked on her feet even as the murmurs spread through the crowds.

Henry Paffard had killed Juliana. Why? Why? It made no sense at all!

Emma could feel the eyes of Helewisia on her, and her face turned the colour of a beetroot with the knowledge that others were pointing and talking about her. The idea that Henry could have killed Juliana because of Emma’s complaint was unthinkable. No. She was being ridiculous. The fact was, if Henry had killed her, it was for his own selfish reasons, not because of anything that Emma had said or done.

‘Emma? Are you all right?’ Helewisia had crossed the alley to her.

‘Yes, of course I am,’ she said, a little more curtly than she intended.

‘You look upset. You cannot blame yourself. This wasn’t your fault.’

‘I know. And I thank you for your kindness,’ Emma said with a sigh. ‘I cannot be at fault if Henry decided to kill his maid and Juliana, can I?’

‘There must be some reason for him to do something so extreme. Henry is usually so rational and shrewd.’

‘Why cut off her lips?’ Emma said, and shuddered.

‘Because he wanted to stop anyone else threatening to talk about him? I don’t know.’

‘Talk about him?’ Emma repeated. It was a thought. If Juliana had been going to speak up about having witnessed him commit murder, say, that would explain the mutilation.

‘Poor Juliana,’ Helewisia said.

‘I will not change my thoughts about her,’ Emma said rigidly.

‘I think you should show more compassion and forgiveness now,’ Helewisia remonstrated gently.

‘She is dead. It matters little to her what I say or do,’ Emma said sharply.

‘You still offer no compassion, only pride?’ Helewisia said coolly.

‘I offer nothing at all. Juliana offended my daughter and me. Don’t expect me to mourn her. I feel sorrow that she has died, but that is all.’

East Gate

Sir Richard de Welles was happy to be seated in the saddle once more. He beamed at the men about him as he ran his eye over them. A scruffy bunch of churls, but with the hearts of men of Devon, they would no doubt suffice.

It was not as though the task ahead was difficult, in God’s name. None of the porters at the gates had reported seeing a tall priest for a day or so, which meant Laurence must have been disguised. Or, at least wore a thick cloak over his clerical garb. All these fellows need do was ride on and see whether they could overrun a clerk on foot. Not a hard job, even in winter. Today, with the pleasant breeze and the sun trying to break through the clouds, it should be an agreeable task. Not even the prospect of a fight, he told himself sadly. It was always heartening to think that a manhunt could result in some form of struggle at the end of the day. Made the effort worthwhile.

Still, with a horse beneath him, the sun overhead, he was as content as he ever had been as he led the makeshift posse from the castle’s street, into the High Street, and thence out by the East Gate.

There were two Sergeants with him, and two-and-twenty men. As soon as he was outside the city’s walls, he commanded them to separate, and it was with only two men that he continued onwards to Heavitree. From there he intended to make a wide sweep up towards the north. He didn’t think that the priest would have travelled more than ten miles if he left the city last night. Perhaps he could have covered slightly more, but if he had, news of the posse would soon reach all the small farms and vills, and the peasants would be on the lookout for a man with a tonsure. Ha! It wouldn’t take long to catch him.

He had ridden four or five miles when he saw the first group of men.

Three of them lying at the side of the road – and all hacked and stabbed to death.