The Butcher of St Peter's

Chapter Twenty-One

Juliana was exhausted. Returning from the cathedral after maintaining vigil over her husband’s body, she was sore and tense. The endless night had taken more from her than she had expected. People about her didn’t seem to realize, either. They went about their business as though there was nothing the matter, while all the time she felt as though she had been through an ordeal.

It was curious walking back from the cathedral. For some reason it put her in mind of her father’s funeral. But then of course Daniel had been there to support her. Now she felt so lonely …

She expected to be acknowledged on every side; surely everybody knew that her husband was dead? Yet no one spoke to her. The hawkers went on shouting their wares, the cooks continued to bawl out about their pies, the alewives screeched on about the quality of their drinks, and over all there was the din of horses, metalled hooves ringing on the cobbled ways, and dogs barking. It was a discordant cacophony that most days would sound comforting, being merely the regular background noise of her life, but today it was overawing, battering her ears. She had a headache before she had passed more than a few feet from the close.

It seemed as though the world was mocking her. They all knew of her desolation, but everyone was pretending that there was nothing wrong. The world was unchanged. Life could continue as before.

At the house, Gwen was already waiting with a strong jug of wine. ‘Come here, maid. Sit, sit, sit. Come, close your eyes,’ she cooed, shoving a pillow under Juliana’s head as she sat on a bench near a wall, lifting her feet and placing them on a small stool.

Gwen stood back and surveyed her work. ‘It’ll be a long while before you get over the aching, maid. You get used to it over time.’

‘You have buried so many, Gwen.’

‘Aye, that I have. Husband and children both. You learn how to over time, maid. I hope you don’t get to learn so well as me.’

‘Thank you, Gwen,’ Juliana said as she slipped into a merciful sleep …

… and woke to the sound of a door opening quietly.

She was startled. Springing up, she slipped and hit her head painfully against the wall, almost falling from the bench. Her heart pounded wildly and her eyes widened with fright when she saw Jordan le Bolle in the room with her.

‘My God!’

In her dream she had been asleep, and Daniel had come to her, bending to give her a last kiss before leaving for a long journey, and the feel of his lips was still upon hers, a chilly tingling. She put a finger to them, to see if there was any sensation of the corpse on her still, but all the time her eyes were fixed upon Jordan. ‘You …’

‘I gave you a fright,’ he concluded for her. He stood before her, then bent to take her hand.

‘No!’ she exclaimed, snatching her hand away and averting her face.

His face seemed to freeze. ‘I only wanted to greet you, lady.’

‘I’ve just returned from the vigil over my husband’s body,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘The man who was so cruelly taken from me.’

‘I was very sad to hear of your loss.’

She could say nothing. Her eyes remained on his, but he could see something in them. Not just fear: there was defiance there too. Good! It would make it all the easier to have her killed. She was not submissive by nature. Well, neither was Agnes, come to that.

He began, ‘Juliana, I am sorry that he is gone. Perhaps I can help you? I love your sister, after all, and some little. .’

‘You love no one! You are composed of hatred and bile, Jordan le Bolle! Have you forgotten the last time you spoke to my husband? You threatened to kill Daniel, and me, and my children, if he didn’t stop looking into your affairs. Have you forgotten that? Because I haven’t!’

He smiled again, but this time distantly, she was glad to see. Taking his leave, he was a little distracted, and Juliana realized that he could hear Gwen thrashing about with her broom again in the front room. Then he gave a final nod and walked from the house.

She was sure that if Gwen hadn’t been in the next room, he would have killed her there and then.

Juliana sank back on the bench. She felt bone weary, but she daren’t close her eyes again. Partly it was fear that Jordan might return, but more than that, she was convinced that if she did, Daniel’s face would appear again, his cold, blue lips approaching hers.

Jordan stood outside the house with his stick in his hand, swinging it idly.

There could be no mistaking her feelings. When he entered the room, she had recoiled with revulsion as soon as she recognized him. No, there was no doubt at all that she was convinced he had killed her man.

Right. There were two problems to consider, then: Agnes and Juliana. Both could embarrass him, and he had no wish to be caught by their wiles. It would be a shame to have someone else kill them. Both were lovely, and he longed for an opportunity to enjoy himself again as he had with Anne. A shame, but there was no point worrying about pleasures that were gone for ever.

He would speak to one of his men and have both bitches removed.

Simon stood in the close in front of the Dean’s house and waited, leaning his shoulders against the wall. ‘How’s the wound, Baldwin?’

‘Not too bad. It gives me gip at night, but generally I can cope,’ Baldwin responded.

‘I’m sorry if this means you’ll be delayed in getting home.’

‘It’s just that I promised Jeanne,’ he said quietly. He remembered how she had been and felt himself torn. He didn’t want to do anything to upset her again.

The Dean had promised to send a messenger warning Jeanne that they were to be held up for a short time, and also telling Edgar to have the ostler remove the saddles from the horses for now and rub them down. A critical guiding light in Baldwin’s life, a result of his earlier life in the Templars, was the rule that horses were seen to first, before any humans, and it was a habit which died hard. It was fortunate that he had remembered to ask that the messenger should tell Jeanne first.

‘She’ll not be happy, you think?’ Simon ventured.

Baldwin gave a quick frown. ‘I don’t know. She seems rather … unsettled just now. I don’t pretend to understand why.’

Simon nodded, but then said, ‘Ah, I’ll willingly gamble that these are the two.’

Approaching them were a vicar and a clerk, and as they drew nearer, the vicar introduced himself. ‘Hello, Sir Baldwin, Bailiff. I am Thomas of Chard, and this well-favoured soul here is Paul, one of the Dean’s clerks.’

The vicar looked the sort of cheery man who would be keen to be first to tell a saucy story sitting about the winter fire in a tavern. He had a round face with rosy cheeks and a bright button of a nose. Blue eyes that crinkled with laughter at the edges made him look as though he was perpetually preparing to chuckle at the joke that was the world.

Paul was rather more serious-looking, with the thin frame and frowning gaze of a man who considered himself more important than others, or so Baldwin thought at first sight, but then he realized that the clerk’s stern exterior concealed a heart as merry in every respect as Thomas’s own.

‘I understand you wanted to speak to us about this foolish man Gervase,’ Paul said.

‘You saw him going to the stews?’ Simon asked.

‘Yes. He was there with a man I’ve known a while,’ Paul said. ‘A pander for some of the women down there.’ He suddenly caught sight of Baldwin’s expression. ‘Not for my own purposes, Sir Knight.’

‘This man, what was his name?’ Baldwin asked.

‘The pander? An ill-starred fellow called Mick. I’ve heard he’s been found dead.’

‘He has,’ Baldwin said. ‘I’ll tell you later, Simon,’ he added. ‘Where exactly did you see this Gervase?’

‘He was at the South Gate, and turned right towards the quay,’ Paul said. ‘I think he was going to the cock-fighting. That was two days before the theft.’

‘So his money was not stolen on his first night staying here at the chapter?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Oh, no, it was taken before he arrived here,’ Paul said.

Thomas sniffed. ‘But he came to us saying he had need of our hospitality. At first we thought it was the usual plea of the traveller who cannot find a place to rest his head.’

‘Not I, nor some few others. We thought he’d lost his money in a gaming hall or a tavern,’ Paul chuckled. ‘It’s not for nothing that he was named Gambling Gervase in the two days he stayed with us.’

‘When he reported losing money, did no one realize?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Surely any man would assume he had gamed it and lost, and that his story was a fabrication.’

Thomas explained, ‘The Dean kept news of the theft secret, so that there would be less embarrassment. And Paul saw no need to evict a man just because of his enjoyment of playing knuckles, so no one knew enough to put the two tales together, not until I learned from the Dean that he had accused us of stealing from him, and then, while seeking to find any news of the money, I told Paul, who himself told me about seeing the man down at the stews.’

‘He was very keen on gambling?’ Simon asked.

‘Oh, yes. And Mick was very good at it too,’ Paul said with a straight face. ‘He always managed to take guests to the right place to test their luck.’

Simon grinned. ‘Let me guess — this Mick never lost huge sums?’

‘Alas, you imply that he might have been dishonest. It would surely be wrong to speak ill of the poor man now he is waiting for the fossor to dig his pit.’

Thomas nodded solemnly. ‘Unless his gambling was no vice but a benefit to others?’

Paul’s lugubrious expression lightened. ‘It was a great benefit to some, I understand. And especially himself and his master. So perhaps it is no more than praising him to say how efficient he was at fleecing poor fellows like Gervase the Gambler?’

‘I think it is definitely setting praise where praise is due,’ Thomas agreed.

‘Vicar, you have put my mind at ease on this point,’ Paul nodded.

‘I am glad.’

‘You mentioned that this Mick had a master?’ Simon pressed him.

‘Ah, yes. A powerful man, a fellow called Jordan. Jordan le Bolle. He is responsible for many of the small ventures about this city which are intended to divert men’s money from their purses and into his own. A most imaginative businessman.’

‘You know so much of him? Surely he cannot be a very successful fellow, then?’ Baldwin asked.

‘There are some who are not so firmly rooted in the contemplative world as we.’ Thomas smiled. ‘We have been warned.’

‘What of?’ Simon said.

‘Well, if a load of lead arrives fresh from ship, occasionally it is as well to open the boxes and ensure that it is lead inside, and not a mess of rubble because one of Master Jordan’s men accidentally removed one and replaced it. And then arrived to sell the same lead to us at an inflated price.’

‘Or,’ Paul added, ‘perhaps a cart of iron fixings arrives, and when the top layer is removed, those beneath are found to be ancient, rusted, and useless without being reworked. It is the difficulty with works like this,’ he continued, waving a hand in the general direction of the rebuilding going on about the cathedral. ‘There are so many facets to this diamond that keeping your eye fixed to any one of them is liable to make you go cross-eyed in a short time. All we can do is hope to prevent the worst abuses. And that means stopping men like this Jordan le Bolle.’

‘We think, Paul; we should not give the impression that we have proof of any of this,’ Thomas said with a twinkle in his eye.

‘A disgraceful idea. No, gentles, please do not think that Jordan is in any way guilty. That would be a terrible slur on his character, I am sure … except …’

‘What?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I have listened to the confessions of many people,’ Thomas said lightly, but with reservation. It was clear that he would say no more, but it was enough.

Paul continued, ‘He would certainly prefer not to be rooted here in business at the cathedral, I’m sure. No, he has enough interests already with his women down at the stews.’

‘You have heard he is involved down there with the prostitutes?’ Baldwin asked.

‘There is a large brothel there which is said to be his own. And at least one other down at Topsham.’ Paul nodded.

‘How did you get to know so much about him?’ Baldwin asked.

‘All from Daniel. He saw it as his life’s work to remove Jordan from the city, I think,’ Paul said, and then his manner grew more genuinely morose. ‘But I fear that if anything, Jordan succeeded in removing Daniel instead.’

Gervase de Brent was proud of his name. In Brent he was thought of as a merry fellow, with the happy-go-lucky attitude that meant others would always enjoy his company in a tavern or alehouse. He was the sort of man who sought friendship, but had lost his ability to discern the difference between those who liked him for his nature and those who liked him for his money — although often, to be fair, they were the selfsame people.

Once Gervase had been moderately wealthy. He had owned two sheepfolds, a share in an inn, and several horses, but he had been unfortunate too often when playing at games of hazard. If he heard the rattle of knuckles, he was always too easily persuaded that a few pennies might be invested which could recoup the losses of the last few games.

What people like his wife didn’t realize was, there was always the chance of making good again. True, he’d had a bad run, but that just meant the good times must be closer. And as he told himself, there was always another game round the corner. As far as he was concerned, this run of bad luck had to stop soon. Things must improve, and then his wife would be happy again.

Actually, as soon as Mick came back they would probably get lucky again. Mick had said after that last evening that it was hard to imagine their fortunes going so badly for much longer. Of course, he laughed as he said it, because he was another like Gervase, a bold fellow with the temper of a knight. There was no loss that could possibly scare him; a man was never worried by details such as a little burst of misfortune. So Gervase had just bartered some plate and a ring or two, and waited until his run changed direction.

He was about to go and see if he could find a game when he heard two men asking about him. He didn’t recognize either of them, when he surreptitiously peered round a beam, but that didn’t matter. He hadn’t known Mick when he came here, and he didn’t know the other two when they offered to help him. These two didn’t look too dangerous. They weren’t employees of a pawnbroker or from a gambling den where he owed money, so far as he could tell.

‘My lordings, you wanted me?’ he asked in his best booming voice. The louder and deeper the voice, he always thought, the more bold and hearty a fellow sounded. Gervase liked to sound hearty.

‘You are Gervase de Brent? I am Simon Puttock, and this is Sir Baldwin de Furnshill. We would like to speak to you for a little.’

‘Is this about the robbery at the cathedral?’ Gervase asked hopefully.

‘Absolutely!’ the knight responded, and Gervase smiled, preening himself.

‘I thought I’d hear something soon. It is ridiculous to think that my loss should be ignored, as though any visitor to the cathedral can become a victim of crime in such a manner. Quite outrageous, really. To think that a man of business like me can be affected in that way.’

The two men persuaded him to join them in a darker part of the inn, out at the back, where they could sit and discuss the matter in peace, and Gervase walked after them trustingly. They were clearly sent to him by the cathedral’s chapter. The chapter was ashamed of their lapse. No chapter could afford to be thought to be harbouring a thief. No, as he’d been told, they wanted to make a deal. Well, that was no problem. God’s blood, he’d be happy with a couple of pounds. That’d be enough. He’d be delighted to forget the rest. Who cared?

‘You had your money stolen while you were in the cathedral, making use of their hospitality?’ the older man, the one called Sir Baldwin, asked.

‘That’s right. Someone must have taken it. I mean to say, you know what it’s like! I wouldn’t normally want to complain. It would embarrass the chapter, I dare say, eh?’ Gervase said, but then he set his face in a frown and leaned forward, shaking his head gravely. ‘But come, you and I are men of the world, yes? The last thing I would like to do is upset the Dean and chapter, but if there is one rotten apple, far better that it is removed before it can infect all the others in the barrel, eh? I think that it’s necessary to find that apple. Or at least to let him know he’s being sought. It’s not the money so much, you understand? It’s the idea that there should be a man in there who. ’

‘That is good. So you agree that you’ll not worry about claiming the money back?’ the knight said.

Gervase smiled through his teeth, although he was changing his opinion of the man. Clearly the knight was sent to minimize the loss to the chapter. ‘I don’t think I said I’d agree to lose so large a sum. It must seem a small amount to a noble knight, sir, but to a mere mean traveller and merchant like me, it’s a lot. But it’s important that the man is caught, too.’

‘What are you after?’ the other man asked. He had a smile on his face, and he looked like a fellow who was saying: ‘Come on, we’re all adults here. What do you really want, eh?’

Gervase smiled back. ‘Look, let’s be realistic, yes? All I want is the money I need to get back to Brent. It’s a long way. I’ve lost a small fortune, and I want to go home. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing,’ the smiling man said, and then his smile seemed to flee his face and his head was lowered. ‘But if someone was trying to rob the cathedral, I might grow angry.’

‘Simon!’ the other said warningly. ‘There’s no need for that.’

‘This sodomite has accused the cathedral of robbing him, and you want me to treat him kindly?’

‘Simon, he’s just saving himself from the shame of confessing to what he’s done here, that’s all.’

Gervase made as though to stand. ‘I don’t need to listen to this!’

Simon stood up too. ‘Yes, you do!’ he snarled, and Gervase suddenly realized that these two were in his way to the door out of the tavern. He sat down again with a very hollow, sinking feeling in his belly.

‘First,’ Baldwin said, ‘how much do you owe to the brothel and the other gamblers? Were all your shillings thrown away on games of chance, or were some invested in the whores?’

‘I don’t know what you mean!’

‘Baldwin, let me hit him!’ Simon begged, standing again. Baldwin had to put out his hand, but he winced as he did so.

Gervase was suddenly very nervous. The sling about his neck showed that this Baldwin was injured. If his hot-headed companion decided to grow more aggressive, there might be little that the knight could do to stop him. He moved his stool a little farther from the table. ‘All right, all right, there’s no need for that! Yes, I lost a bit on the games. The tarts — well, you know — I was lonely. I’ve been travelling for some time now, and was on my way home.’

‘How much did you lose?’ Baldwin snapped.

‘About seven shillings.’

‘And you sought to claim six marks from the chapter?’ Simon sneered.

‘Look, it’s what people do, yes? That’s what they said, that the Church can afford to lose a little to a man like me, and when they have people who’ve lost a lot, they recommend that we demand it back from the chapter. The canons never quibble. They’ve got enough of their own, that’s what they said.’

‘Who are “they”?’ Simon demanded.

‘The ones there in the gambling rooms. Mick took me to them. One was Jordan, the other Reginald. They were the men who ran the place.’

‘Reginald who?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Gyll, or something. He was with Jordan le Ball or someone. They owned it, and the whorehouse too, according to Mick. He seemed quite scared of them both, although I don’t know why. They seemed reasonable enough to me,’ Gervase said, putting on his man-of-the-world expression.

‘Did you think so?’ Baldwin asked in a quiet voice. ‘What is your trade, Master Gervase?’

‘I am a merchant — but business is not good just now.’

‘If you were to start trying to sell goods to make some money instead of robbing a cathedral, you might find yourself in more luck,’ Simon said harshly.

Gervase had risen and was staring pathetically about him. ‘Don’t let him hit me!’

‘You’re not worth the effort,’ Simon said contemptuously and sat back with his arms folded. ‘But you will answer us now.’

‘I want to go. You’re holding me against my will.’

‘The little man has some fight left in him,’ Simon said to Baldwin.

‘Yes. Very well, Gervase. You may go. Oh, one thing, though …’

‘What?’

‘I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace and my friend here is a bailiff. We are working for the Bishop and the Dean. We could let it be known that you have been very helpful to us.’

‘That’s a threat?’ Gervase asked with a snigger.

‘You went to the gambling with a Master Mick?’ Baldwin asked.

‘He’s a friend of mine.’

‘Was. He’s dead.’

‘The poor fellow. I didn’t think he looked …’ Gervase looked at him doubtfully. ‘Are you threatening me now?’

‘No. I am telling you. He was murdered; his throat was cut. Did you meet a whore with him? A girl named Anne?’

‘Yes, a lovely little thing. Very young and pretty. She has such life in her.’

‘She’s dead. The man who killed Mick also cut her dreadfully about the face and body, and she committed suicide.’

Gervase stared at him, and his face seemed to crumple. ‘Both of them? Who would murder them?’

‘Did either of them mention that they might be leaving the city soon?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Mick did say that he was going to, yes. He said he was going to marry and settle. He’d got some money saved and was going to head south to the coast.’

‘That was why he died,’ Baldwin said flatly.

‘It’s no crime to marry,’ Gervase said. He was growing tearful.

Simon leaned forward, his elbow on the table top. ‘Are you being intentionally obtuse? Anne was going to run off with Mick. Her master, the man who owned her, was not happy to let that happen. He tortured and terrified her and murdered Mick, just to leave a message to all the other whores who work for him. He scared her badly, and scarred her still more, and she killed herself.’

‘Sweet Mother Mary, Blessed …’

‘It’s a little late to pray, when you’ve just been planning to defraud the chapter of a large sum of money,’ Simon rasped.

‘I didn’t think it would hurt them! The Dean and his canons are so rich. And they said it wouldn’t hurt. ’

‘Reginald and Jordan?’

‘They offered to help me. They gave me some money.’

‘In exchange for what?’ Simon asked. ‘Come on! If men like them offer to advance money, they demand repayment very soon after. They tell you to bring it to them or they’ll break a finger, or cut off a toe, and if you still fail to bring them their cash, they’ll break an arm, until you suddenly learn how to bring money in. Perhaps by selling something; more likely by robbing someone. And so the cycle of violence continues … What did they demand from you, these usurers?’

Gervase shook his head. ‘They wanted nothing of the sort. The man Reg gave me some money, and was sympathetic about my bad luck at the knuckles, and Jordan said that I might grow luckier soon. I offered them a ring and some plate as collateral, but that was all, and they didn’t even ask for that — I had to suggest it.’

‘They wanted nothing?’

‘Well of course they did say that if my claim against the cathedral was successful, they would want their money back, but that was all. They seemed perfectly happy with matters.’

‘Then you may consider yourself very fortunate,’ Baldwin said.

Simon bared his teeth. ‘You think so? Baldwin, I’m learning more about gambling and whores since I’ve moved to Dartmouth. If this man was to leave the city suddenly, those two would know about it in moments, and a fellow would be sent after him to rob him on his way home. That’s how they work: no one is ever entirely free from such men, ever.’

‘You mean I can’t leave Exeter?’ Gervase squeaked.

‘You can,’ Simon said. ‘But only if you go now, quickly, without waiting to hear from the cathedral about any money you say you’re owed. Jordan and his friend won’t think that you’d leave without a profit. They couldn’t understand that, so they’ll assume you will be here until the chapter pays you, and then they’ll do everything they can to catch you and take it. And they won’t want to leave a living witness to their theft, of course.’

‘My God! I am undone!’

Baldwin glanced at him unsympathetically. ‘Yes. You are. And if you want to survive, you’d best begin telling us all about your losses, where you played, who else was there, and what Mick and Anne said to you about Jordan and his companion.’