The Butcher of St Peter's

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mazeline was nervous when the harsh banging came on her door. She remained in her seat in the hall when the noise started, echoing about the place, and it was only when she heard a voice demand that the door be opened at once that she stirred herself.

The bottler was already there, and he cast an anxious eye at her as he hovered near the door. ‘Open it,’ she commanded quietly.

‘We want to speak to Jordan le Bolle,’ the first man said.

‘You are the Keeper? I recognize you. These others are?’

‘Sir Peregrine de Barnstaple, the Coroner, and Bailiff Puttock from Dartmouth,’ Baldwin answered. ‘Lady, your husband, where is he?’

‘I do not know,’ she said.

And nor did she care. After Agnes had left, while she tried to hold back her tears, he had stumped about the place, and then stormed out, angrily telling her to cool her temper.

‘A woman should be a delight for her husband, not a muling, whining bitch forever weeping.’

‘Did you love her?’ she had said. In God’s name, she had no idea where that question had come from. It seemed to leap into her mouth without bidding, and she felt her eyes widen in shock even as he spun towards her, his fist clenched under her nose. Mercifully, he didn’t strike.

‘Love her? No! But she was useful. I wanted to know about Daniel, and she was the source of my information.’

‘You did kill him, didn’t you?’ she whispered.

‘Everyone thinks that,’ he spat, and he put his hands to his head with a grimace. ‘Why does everyone think I did it? I have plenty of men will swear that I was nowhere near the place that night. I wasn’t there! It wasn’t me!’

‘Did you ever love me?’ she asked, in a voice so small she could hardly hear it herself.

‘You?’ His face cleared and lifted and he frowned at her as though surprised to hear her question him on such a matter. ‘We have been happy, haven’t we? We have a lovely daughter, and we’re content with our lives. I find money and food for you, don’t I? What more do you want of me?’

He left soon after that, and if there was satisfaction that for once he had not beaten her, there was a strange, fresh desolation in her heart.

In all those early years she had lived with the man believing that she had been wrong on occasion, and that he had been justified in correcting her when she was. For her, the fact that he loved her was the overriding point. It had made all the suffering, the humiliation and the pain, somehow bearable; to know that in fact she meant nothing to him was appalling. It made a mockery of her whole life as his wife.

Recently, needing companionship and compassion, she had fallen into the affair. It was by no means intentional, her oaths before the altar meant that her soul was endangered already, but when she began to fall in love with poor Reg, it had seemed both natural and inevitable. Both sought escape from the same man … the same terrors. Even then, she had thought that Jordan still loved her, that his beatings and cruelties were proof of his love.

If he had never loved her, her entire existence lost all meaning. His indifference trivialized her.

‘You must have some idea, mistress!’ Sir Peregrine ground out.

His harsh voice drew her back to the present, but without fear. There could be no nervousness with this man. He could bluster and threaten her, but that was as nothing compared with the torment her husband had inflicted on her over years. She met his gaze levelly. ‘I told you I don’t know.’

The Keeper cleared his throat. ‘Lady, we have to speak to him. What time is he usually about in the morning?’

She gave him a faint smile. ‘My husband? That depends upon where he is now. If he has gone to his gambling rooms, he might be home again early in the morning, but if he’s gone to the brothel, he might be enjoying himself with one of his queans. He has any number of strumpets in that place.’

‘You knew of it?’ Baldwin asked gently.

She rather liked him of the three. He had kindly, gentle eyes that seemed to show that he had suffered in his life too, and knew what it was to be in pain because of another person’s actions. He had known hardship. ‘I guessed, although I only really found out … recently.’

‘What of his thefts from the cathedral?’ Simon asked.

She looked at him and shrugged. ‘I know nothing of that. You’d have to ask him.’

Sir Peregrine set his jaw. ‘I think I should wait here to speak to him when he returns.’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘We can easily have some men guard the door, Sir Peregrine. There is no need for us to take up any more of this lady’s time for now.’

She met his gaze and smiled at him, sadly, but with gratitude. ‘I have not had an enjoyable day. I would be grateful for the peace, were you to leave me alone. Do you wish me to tell my husband that you want to talk to him?’

‘I think,’ Baldwin said, ‘that it may be better if you do not. Either there will be men outside your door to speak to him when he comes home, in which case there will be no need for you to tell him anything, or we might decide to surprise him tomorrow. However, you are his wife, and we cannot force you to keep a secret like that.’

‘I am his wife,’ she agreed, ‘but that means that he owes me respect, as well as expecting his due from me in terms of obedience.’

Baldwin smiled again, and nodded, before leading the other two from the room.

Reg felt almost sick as he walked into the brothel that night. The smell from the lean-to at the back was foul. A mixture of fat and wood ash, the stench was cloying and repellent. It caught in his throat and nostrils, making him gag, and he stood in the corridor, leaning against the wall and choking.

He’d begun his association with Jordan because he’d needed food. There was no other motive: it was steal, rob, even kill, or die. There was no choice. Live or die.

Then, when he was riding back from Topsham after checking a small cargo they’d bought between them, he’d seen her: Sabina. It wasn’t that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, nor that she was the richest, but there was something about her that had attracted him. Perhaps her liveliness, her spark of life, the thrill that there was about her, whatever she did. She served him some of her father’s scrumpy, and he felt before he’d finished the jug that this was the woman he wanted to marry. She’d be comfortable, kind, a good mother. Not a flighty strumpet from the stews, who’d flatter a man; this was a real woman. A real mother. Maybe that was it? His own mother had been dead a while by then. Maybe he just wanted a replacement.

And he wanted a son, of course. Michael. Sweet Jesus, Michael! His boy had gone.

In the time it had taken him to register what she was planning, they had gone. It hadn’t been an instantaneous thing. They’d all sat down to their supper, and he’d thought that she would come round, as she usually did when they had a dispute, but then after his meal he went up to the Boar, and when he returned, she’d gone. With Michael.

The loss of his boy was so overwhelming, he was distraught. If it was just Sabina, he could cope. She’d go, and maybe someday she’d return, but Michael … He knew that with Michael gone, his life was ending. There was nothing more to live for. Everything he’d done recently had been in order to make a good life for his boy. Michael was all that mattered to him.

It mattered not a whit what he wanted, though. His life was already too bound up in Jordan’s concerns. His existence depended on the regular acquisition of women to replace the stales who had to be thrown from the brothel because they were too old, too worn, too tired, or just because they had fled the place. Many did, and each time Jordan exerted himself to find them again. They should be made an example of, he said. They should be shown to have failed, so that others wouldn’t try the same trick.

That was the whole idea with Anne, of course. It still made him feel sick to think of it. Killing a man quickly and without fuss, that was one thing; torturing a girl like that was different. That night he’d seen more clearly than before just how different Jordan was from him. Some men had consciences, but Jordan certainly didn’t.

‘Glad you’re here, Reg,’ came a voice, and he stiffened as he recognized Jordan’s tone. There was an undercurrent of excitement in it, as though he was suppressing his exhilaration.

‘Jordan,’ he responded listlessly.

‘Christ’s nuts, Reg, you look as if the world’s shat on your head!’ Jordan said and laughed.

‘Sabina has run away. She took my boy with her.’

‘She took Michael?’ Jordan whistled through his front teeth. ‘That’s bad. Do you want me to find them and bring him back?’

‘I can do that myself,’ Reginald said. He knew full well what Jordan was offering.

‘Well, after what you did for me with Daniel, all you have to do is let me know,’ Jordan said with a smile, but then he closed his eyes.

‘What is it?’

‘My head. It hurts so much sometimes … just now it’s worse than ever … You remember that little maid who I was seeing to try to get at Daniel?’

Jordan put his arm about Reg’s shoulder and began to lead him out to the yard at the back. There was the sound of raucous singing from the hall, the rattling of knuckles in a back room, screeching from the cocks in the pits out at the back, and the ever-present chinking of money. Men and women rutted in corners, on the floor or in beds, according to their fancy, and the noise assailed Reg’s ears. He grew quite dizzy, as though he had been drinking strong wine all day.

They went out to the separate little house, just one room and a small chamber above, in which they conducted their business. Jordan went to the cupboard in which were several large pots of wine and selected one, pulling out the stopper and sniffing appreciatively.

‘What of her, Jordie? This wench?’

‘Daniel’s sister-in-law? She came to my house today and started acting like a wife! In front of Mazeline, too, as though the tart had some sort of claim on me!’

‘What did Maz say?’

‘She was a bit surprised, I think, but you know her. If she stood next to a statue of her in ice, you’d be hard pressed to tell which was real!’ He laughed and drank wine. ‘But the worrying thing is, Agnes made some comments a day or two back about Juliana knowing I’d killed her old man. Now we both know I didn’t, but that wouldn’t stop rumours. You know, I had a meeting a while back with the city receiver, and he didn’t come to greet me? Wouldn’t shake my hand or anything. Just a curt nod from the other side of the room. If Agnes or Juliana took it into their heads to accuse me, I could show I wasn’t anywhere near Daniel’s place, but it’d be embarrassing even so.’

‘So hope they keep quiet. You said you’d threatened Juliana: surely that’ll scare her into silence. She wouldn’t risk her children’s lives, would she?’

Jordan shook his head in an unconvinced manner. ‘I don’t know. I don’t like to think that they both have so much information about me. Perhaps it would be best if I were merely to have them removed. Without Daniel, there’s only them who are a threat to me, after all.’

‘You can’t kill them, Jordie! What if you were seen? It’s one thing to kill a man like the sergeant — I mean, anyone could have wanted him killed, from Ham’s friends, to Henry or Est … any number of people. But to kill Daniel’s wife as well, that would be too much …’

‘If you reckon. Still, it’s your neck, I suppose,’ Jordan said easily.

‘Mine?’

‘I wasn’t there when Daniel died. I was here. But you weren’t. Sabina would vouch for you, I suppose, not tell the truth about where you were? She’d back up your story, wouldn’t she? Yes, if you think it’s safe enough for you to leave the women alive, that’s fine. It’s your life at risk. Not mine.’

Jordan smiled at him, but not this time, Reg swore to himself. He had submitted to people all his life — Jordan, Sabina, others — and all that had happened was, he had lost his son. He was done with doing other men’s bidding.

He wouldn’t kill for Jordan. Jordan could find another assassin.

Early the next morning Baldwin woke to find himself alone in bed. He opened his eyes and glanced about the room, only to see Jeanne at the window, a loose-fitting tunic about her, staring out at the dawn.

He stood and went to her side. ‘I miss Richalda.’

‘I do too,’ she said.

There was a soft sadness about her which he hated to hear. ‘My love, I want to get home as soon as possible.’

‘Good. Just finish your business here, and we’ll return.’

‘I will … if it cannot be cleared easily and quickly, I shall tell the Dean that it is beyond me. What can I do, after all?’ he asked with a sudden frustration. ‘There is one man I should speak to, this Estmund, but he has disappeared. His friend Henry may know where he is, but he will not tell me. Unless I speak to Est, I cannot learn what happened there in Daniel’s house. Why should I stay here any longer to torment myself? I may as well be in Crediton as here. Estmund has probably fled the city. Ach! And then there is this dead pander too, and his whore … My arm hurts, my heart aches, and I want to see you happy again. Jeanne, when we return, we shall go for a long ride each day. We could ride off to your estate — we haven’t been there for a long time. Would you like that?’

She looked up at him. ‘You mean that? We could go and visit Liddinstone?’

‘I swear it. I will do anything to bring back my happy, smiling, cheerful wife again.’

‘Then you have succeeded,’ she said.

‘Good. My love, it is good to see you smile again,’ he said.

They broke their fast in the hall of the inn with Simon and Edgar. Baldwin was without his sword as they ate, but before Simon and he left, he sent Edgar to the room again to fetch his little riding sword. It was only two feet long, maybe a little more, and had a blade of peacock blue that caught the sun whenever he drew it. It was a perfect balance for his hand, and he took it from the scabbard now, studying it to make sure that there was no dirt or rust on it.

‘Expecting trouble?’ Simon asked lightly.

‘Today, speaking to this man Jordan, yes, I think I am,’ he answered, and told Edgar to remain with Jeanne.

He led the way from the inn, with a backward glance at his wife, who lifted a hand in farewell, and then he and Simon were out in the daylight. Baldwin was glowering at the roadway as he walked, and Simon knew better than to interrupt his thoughts.

They stopped to collect Sir Peregrine on the way, and then the three of them walked down the road to Jordan’s house. Two men were slouching about outside.

‘Any sign of him?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.

‘No, sir. Stayed here all night and no sign of him at all. If he was down at the brothel over by the river, he’d not be able to get back inside the city anyway. He’d be locked out after dark.’

‘True enough,’ Baldwin said. He went to the door and knocked politely. ‘Is your master at home?’ he asked the bottler, who shook his head.

‘So what now?’ Sir Peregrine asked as they stood at the bottom of the road eyeing the two sentries.

‘I would suggest that we ought to go to the friary and see what this man Guibert has to say. But first …’ Baldwin said, and he paused. Walking back towards the watchmen, he beckoned a young boy and leaned down to speak to him, then passed a coin to the watchman nearest him. ‘This man will give you that penny when you return and tell him the reply. Is that clear?’

‘Yes. Find Henry and ask him to meet you at the cathedral near the conduit.’

‘Go!’ Baldwin saw Simon watching and listening. He returned to Sir Peregrine and Simon and shrugged. ‘It is probably pointless, but it may help.’

Friar John was already in the church when he heard the calls for the Prior, and soon he realized that a brother friar was waiting for him to be finished. With a last obeisance, he stood, bowed, made the sign of the cross, and gradually left the room, walking backwards respectfully.

‘What is it?’

‘John, the Prior has asked you to join him in the cloister. There are some men here to see him. They’re asking about the theft of Sir William’s body.’

Friar John rubbed his hands together. He was looking forward to this.

‘Prior,’ he said as he entered the grassed space. This was one of his favourite places, a clear, open area where he could meditate and study without interruption. It was important that he and the other friars should be educated to the highest possible standard about the latest views on natural philosophy, and this was the place to which he retired when he needed to consider new arguments for his preaching.

The men with the Prior were not religious. Two looked like knights, and one was a rather more disreputable-looking character, with strong shoulders and a square face.

‘John, I would be grateful if you could tell these gentles about the late Sir William and how he came to be here.’

‘Sir William was always a keen son of Christ. He fought in the Holy Land to try to protect it from the infidels, and was wounded out there. Returning, he took up the life of a knight in a small manor in Hatherleigh, and as he grew older, with no family, he bequeathed his estates and monies to us here at the priory, and came to live with us as a confrater. He took his part in our duties, shared our food such as it is, and spent his time in prayer. He was a most devout, good man. That was why, when he was dying, he expressed a desire that he should be buried here in our church. And that his funeral should be conducted here. The reason for that was simple — he always believed us Friars Preacher to be more holy than those who live over there.’ He pointed with his chin to the west where the canons had their houses.

‘He bequeathed his all to us, you see,’ Guibert said. There was a touch of triumphalism in his voice, and John could hardly blame him for it. ‘He gave over everything to us, for the safe protection of his soul. And those terrible men in the cathedral’s chapter sought to steal it all, and his body. And now they have held the funeral service for him.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed mildly. ‘And you owe the cathedral its due. Would you make that money over to them?’

‘I see no reason why I should make any money over to them! They stole his body and his funerary ornaments. All the candles, the cloths, everything was taken by the rowdy villains who came in here. One of my brethren was knocked down and injured.’

‘The Dean is most apologetic for the hurt done,’ Baldwin said. ‘He wishes that the affair might be settled. There is no point in a lengthy argument as there was over Sir Henry all those years ago.’

‘They may think so, but we are not here to accommodate thieves and churls,’ Guibert thundered. ‘First let them bring back the body and all the goods they stole, and make apology before the doors to our church; then we may consider whether we might help them. I promise nothing.’

Sir Peregrine tried to mollify him. ‘To call them all thieves is more than a little strong, when describing the religious men who live so close to you. They are as honourable, surely, as-’

‘Do not think to tell me that they are as honourable as my brethren here,’ Guibert interrupted boldly. He thrust out his chest. ‘We live in poverty, respecting no property whatever. We have nothing of our own, so that we might spend our time more effectively, concentrating on God’s will.’

‘The chapter spends its time in prayer for the souls of the living and the dead,’ Sir Peregrine tried.

‘And hastens the deaths of others so that they might win the funerary goods!’

Baldwin looked up sharply. ‘That is a very serious allegation. Do you have proof?’

‘I was speaking metaphorically,’ Guibert said, unabashed. ‘If you wish me to be literal, you should consider the theft of several pounds from a poor merchant only recently.’

Sir Peregrine had not heard of this. He looked at Baldwin, who, to his surprise, met the Prior’s outraged stare with a bland expression.

‘So, Prior, you are shocked to hear of the robbery? Did not something similar happen here some years ago?’

‘That was one bad apple. It was plucked out and discarded.’

‘And several priors were censured, I believe?’ Baldwin said. He lifted his hand to stem the angry expostulation. ‘Do you know a man called Jordan le Bolle?’

John nodded and glanced at his Prior. To his astonishment, Guibert essayed a frown and gave a firm shake of his head. ‘Who is he?’

‘A man who owns a brothel near the city walls. I am not surprised you do not know of him — he would hardly be fit company for a prior. He also owns a gambling house.’

‘What of it?’

‘I thought that a man such as yourself, always mingling with and preaching to the lowest fellows in the city, might have come across him in your wanderings. That is all,’ Baldwin said.

‘No.’

‘He managed to take several pounds from that same merchant Gervase, you know. Gervase can’t have been so very “poor”, can he? Not if he could lose pounds to Jordan le Bolle. He lost heavily in gambling at Jordan’s house, and then he was persuaded to go to the chapter and swear that it was stolen from him while he stayed there. It would blacken the name of the cathedral, that, would it not? And only an entirely unscrupulous man would ask a fellow to do that. Accuse the innocent in order to gain advantage over them.’

‘As you say,’ Guibert said. His hand was on his pate now, and he appeared to stare into the distance.

John listened with rising horror. The man was known, obviously, about the city, but he had no idea that Jordan was so evil a character. This was appalling.

‘But what interests me,’ Baldwin continued, ‘is what would have motivated this Jordan to demand such a course of action against the cathedral. It seems peculiar to me. Except he had perhaps a reason. He was making money from the cathedral’s rebuilding. We have heard that when each cargo was landed, if there was a valuable item, he would have it stolen and replaced with some cheaper stuff. And then he would sell the more expensive item back to the chapter. Enterprising, that. But people were growing suspicious of his actions. He wanted a distraction. Perhaps, he reasoned, if he were to create a theft at the cathedral, and then let others know of it …?’

John could stand silent no longer. If the man was a thief, and entirely corrupt, John could not seek to conceal his presence in this little priory. ‘I think perhaps you have forgotten the man, Prior — I saw you discussing some affair with him only a few days ago. You were involved in a lengthy conversation.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. Jordan is a tall man, powerful, energetic. He was here, walking about the place in conversation with you. About the time Sir William died,’ he added sharply.

Guibert looked at him then, and John felt the force of those watery old eyes, but he felt no guilt. Rather, he felt contempt, because he understood Guibert at last. The man he had revered for his courage and integrity had shown himself to be dishonest. He had tried to connive at the shaming of the canons for his own revenge. Perhaps he felt justified, but John thought that although the chapter was too wealthy for the good of the canons, God needed His priests to work together to confound the Devil. If Guibert was prepared to lie and dissemble, he was not honourable. And that meant he was not suitable to be Prior.

No, John could not uphold the tale Guibert had concocted. Now he knew that the story of the theft was untrue, John would have no further part in it. In fact, as he walked back to his cell, he felt he should not remain here while Guibert was Prior. He would collect his bowl and his staff, and leave. Perhaps he could go further west, away from this city with its politics and felonies. He could not remain here.

At least, he reasoned as he took his leave of Robert and walked from the gates for the last time, at least he had been an agent for good. Guibert had lied, and at least John had been there to expose his untruth.