The Butcher of St Peter's

Chapter Eight

Guibert stood and faced the men in his doorway. ‘What is the meaning of this sacrilege?’

‘You’re holding a funeral in here, Prior! You know you don’t have the right without discussing it with the canons.’

‘Who are you? Is that Peter de la Fosse? What do you mean by this intrusion? We can bury this man in our chapel. He has made over his wealth to us already. There is nothing here for you, Canon.’

‘Don’t try to persuade me of that, Prior. You’ve extorted all his wealth, I have no doubt, and you’re welcome to install his body in your cloister when we have done with it, but the cathedral has the monopoly of all funerals still. That man is ours. The candles, the cloth, everything is cathedral property. You’ll relinquish it now!’

John frowned and stared at the canon with confusion. It sounded as though Peter was himself unconvinced. He was plainly anxious, nervy, as though he feared that the friars might attack him. Well, that was unsurprising. He was guilty of an unholy intrusion.

‘You are performing an act of sacrilege. Leave now.’

‘We’ll leave when we’ve got our man!’

Guibert’s head rose impressively on his shoulders. ‘My fellow, this is a privileged chapel. You are here without permission and in breach of the peace. Be gone!’

‘Prior,’ the man said, and stepped forward with a fixed stare in his fretful eyes. When closer, he snapped his fingers under the Prior’s nose. ‘I give that for your peace. You’re always making it your business to steal our funerals and preach against the cathedral and the Bishop, God bless his soul! Well, it’s all going to change now. We won’t have it any more.’

‘Who are “we”?’ Guibert asked mildly.

‘The canons. We have new blood in the chapter now, and we won’t have any more of this nonsense.’ He motioned and four sheepish-looking lay denizens of the cathedral close approached, two of them looking nervously at the Prior.

‘Well may you look so anxious, my sons. Today you perform the devil’s work. You are here to steal the body of a man who desired only to be left in peace after his death. When you remove him, you will take away an unhappy soul. Here he would have lain happily, content after his long life, with our prayers to speed his journey. But you are to interrupt his passage by removing him. He will haunt you for all eternity, my friends.’ Guibert shook his head sadly.

‘Don’t listen to him. Take the body and we’ll go. Snuff those candles and take them too.’

The four began to blow out the candles, pulling them from their spikes and carefully placing them in sacks. One friar interposed himself, but was roughly pushed from their path. He stumbled and fell against a lattice in front of the altar, which broke, the thin dry lathes crackling dustily as he tumbled through it.

John made as though to go and defend the priory’s property, but Guibert put out a hand when he heard his movement and gripped his shoulder. ‘No, no, John. Remain here with me,’ he said gently. ‘There is no point in argument or fighting. These ruffians are proof against all moderation.’

The body was lifted on its bier, and John watched with his eyes glittering fiercely as it was carried towards them.

‘You can have him back when he’s had his funeral,’ the canon sneered. To John’s eye he was gaining in confidence now that no one stood against him. ‘And don’t try this sort of nonsense again. I’d have thought you would have learned by now that we won’t suffer this infringement of our rights. Our Bishop has his memory still, you know.’

‘Yes,’ Guibert said slyly. ‘And the ear of the King … sometimes. And at other times, he may not. Your Bishop is not long for this world, man. And his excommunication is still in place. It is sad that he has chosen to take all of you with him.’ He turned to face the approaching bier. ‘I am truly sorry, my sons. You will pay with your eternal lives for this dreadful act of violence. Striking a friar in his chapel, breaking our lattice, stealing our candles and ornaments, and taking a body in the process of his funeral … these are terrible crimes. You shall be punished. All will be excommunicate! Now, if you do not fear God, go with your trophies, but remember, no matter what penance you perform for this evil, you can never wash away the sin. You are defiled for ever.’

John could see one of the nervous-looking men casting about towards the others, but another in front of him just sneered and spat. ‘You’re a friar, but our Bishop has more power than you! He can overrule any sentence you lay on us. You’re the ones breaking the laws, not us.’

‘He is right,’ said the canon. ‘Be grateful that we won’t bother to report this. Come, we must return to the cathedral to give this man his funeral. We shall keep the body in St Peter’s for a while. Come and collect him when you’re ready.’

With a last contemptuous glance at the Prior, the man turned on his heel and followed the men carrying the body.

‘Prior, I am so sorry,’ John said as the great door was closed on their arrogant departure.

‘Sorry? For what? It is exactly what I expected, and what I wished,’ Guibert said softly. ‘Brother, now we have the cathedral where we want them.’

Baldwin walked round the house to the window he had seen before. It had been mended haphazardly, with a patch of wood nailed over the splinter, but when he tested it with his hand it moved.

‘Useless! Someone has levered this away.’

‘How could they do that?’ Sir Peregrine demanded. He pushed past Edgar to join Baldwin and studied the flap of wood. ‘But this has not merely been prised away, has it?’

‘No. It has been expertly done. One nail at the top is the same length as it was, and hinges the panel. The wood lies flat, and when pushed is held in place by the remaining shorter nails. But a man who knows of it can easily pull it away and slip it up, giving access to the hole once more like this …’ He put his hand on it and rocked it gently, and with a quiet squeak the wood moved to one side, still held by the one nail. ‘Someone knew of this work and levered the wood away, then filed down three of the nails so that they would grip but still be easy to remove. A rather ingenious means of gaining access to the peg’s hole.’

‘You seem thoughtful.’

‘I am. This work must have taken some time. And it must have been done by a man who had a good knowledge of the way the shutter was patched.’

‘Perhaps the pederast arrived here one evening and learned that his access was blocked, and so he performed this work to make it easier to gain entry?’ Sir Peregrine suggested.

‘You think he could have taken a lever to this, then filed the nails and hammered the first one back in again without waking the household?’ Baldwin smiled. ‘No, this was planned and executed with skill. And the man must have come here when the house was empty.’

‘You mean he heard of a time when all would be out of the house and came here to do this then? It would have been a brave thing to do.’

‘Scarcely,’ Baldwin said coolly. He replaced the block of wood on the panels of the shutter and pushed it. The nails soon bit into the shutter and held the block in place, apparently firmly. ‘Yesterday was Monday; the day before was the Sabbath. I fear someone planned to come here and kill him on Sunday. A dreadful crime to contemplate on a holy day.’

‘Or any other.’

‘True … Daniel mentioned a man who’d caught this nocturnal visitor, did he not? Reginald Gylla, wasn’t it?’

He strode round the house with his head lowered in thought. At the front door, he stopped and called to Daniel’s maidservant. ‘Yesterday your master spoke of a man — Reginald Gylla? Do you know where he lives?’

The woman nodded and gave directions to a house up near the Priory of St Nicholas.

‘Good. And now we should enjoy some refreshment — is there a tavern nearby?’

‘Yes, sir. Left up the street.’

‘And who would know most of this stranger who enters houses at night?’ Baldwin pressed her. ‘Estmund Webber.’

She blanched and looked about her. Then, ‘Ask old Saul at the tavern. He’ll be there at this time of day, and he can tell you all you need to know. You ask him.’

He should have realized the depth of the mire into which Jordan would drag him, but Reginald was too content to be able to sleep with a roof over his head, to feel his belly filled once more, and to know that he didn’t have to worry about starving again, not for a while.

On his way to the market for a treat for his wife, he recalled those days.

They had changed direction soon after the sale of the pardoners’ goods, and almost immediately Jordan started looking for a place to rent. Soon he was the proud master of a small brothel, and that one grew into a trio, one in Exeter near the East Gate, one just outside the walls at the South Gate, in case the city grew more censorious about such activities, and a third in Topsham, to catch all the sailors. Reg hadn’t wanted any part of the businesses, but Jordan wanted a friend, a man he could trust, to help him. Reg had little choice unless he wanted to upset Jordan, and no man with sense would want to upset Jordan. So no, he had remained quiet, and helped. He had invested in the venture, and when the profits began to flow, he had taken that money and used it to buy small loads on a ship that traded between Bordeaux and Dartmouth. Soon he was building a profitable business.

Jordan had more ideas. As the whores began to bring in more money, he started to look for new schemes to increase his wealth. He scorned legitimate business, because the profits were lower and the risks higher, so he said. The only risk in prostitution was that another man might persuade one of his women to leave him for another pander, but if that was the case, Jordan would threaten the man and scare him off. If he couldn’t, he’d destroy the fellow. And often the woman too. He had no time for women who were disloyal to him. Or men.

The memory of the night before Daniel had attacked poor old Ham came back to Reg and he felt sickened once more.

Once Mick had been a man whom Jordan had trusted. It was that which had made Jordan’s rage so extreme, probably. He lost all his inhibitions when he was confronted with betrayal, and would seek to destroy any man who stood in his path. That, for the man who was betraying him by taking his wife for a tumble, was a source of terror. If Jordan ever came to hear of Reg’s infidelity — and Mazeline’s, of course — he would tear them limb from limb in his blind fury. There would be no holding him back.

‘Hello, Reg.’

The sound of Jordan’s voice made Reg’s heart leap so violently, he felt sure it must burst from his body. ‘Sweet Mother of God …’

‘Friend, I can only say thank you, but if there is ever a favour you need from me — well, let me know,’ Jordan said. ‘And for now, here’s a token.’

He thrust a purse into Reg’s shaking hands, and then strode away in a hurry. Reg gripped the bag, staring dumbfounded, and only when Jordan had disappeared from view in the crowds did he untie the thongs at the neck and stare in at the coins that shifted and moved with a merry tinkling ring as his entire body shook with reaction.

The tavern at the end of Daniel’s alley was called the Black Hog, and Sir Peregrine hesitated at the door.

‘You really wish to enter here?’

‘Sir Peregrine, believe me, you will go into worse places than this as Coroner,’ Baldwin chuckled, and ducked under the lintel. To see bold, political Sir Peregrine so anxious made him want to laugh.

It was not so bad as some of the rougher alehouses at the north-western corner of the city. Until recently the Franciscans had lived there in their little convent, but the insanitary conditions were not conducive to prayer, and when several friars had died they petitioned to acquire another block of land. Now, although their church remained, the only other recognizable feature from the convent days was the huge open midden that flooded the roadway in front of the church. Baldwin knew several of the alehouses along that way, because they were particularly useful when he was seeking a man who was inured to a life of felony.

Now, however, he was looking for a man who would appear more respectable, if the maid’s whispered description was anything to go by. Soon Baldwin spotted him: a burly figure sitting at a table with a large pot before him and the contented expression of a man who was already much of the way down his first quart of the day.

‘Master Saul?’

‘Aye? Oh. Keeper.’

‘You know me?’

‘Seen you about the place, Sir Knight. Who doesn’t recognize you? What do you want from me? My pigs are-’

‘This is nothing to do with your pigs, master. A man was murdered last night and we are attempting to learn why.’

Saul glanced from one to the other. ‘So you’re looking into Daniel’s murder?’

Sir Peregrine peered at him closely. ‘You know of this?’

‘We don’t have that many murders of sergeants even in this street, sir,’ Saul said simply. ‘People have been gossiping about his murder all morning.’

‘And who do the people blame?’

‘There are many who had reason to want to see him suffer. Daniel was a dedicated sergeant.’

‘Do you obey the law?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you like him?’

‘For my part, yes. Not everyone did, though.’

‘Such as?’

‘Henry Adyn, for example. He was dreadfully wounded by the sergeant. Daniel hit him with a pickaxe and took away half his chest. He’s still half crippled. Works as a carter.’

‘Where is he to be found?’

‘Usually in here, but today he’s not around. I think he has a place down just off Pruste Street.’

‘In the meantime, have you heard of a man who enters bedrooms and studies the children in their sleep?’

Saul let out a guffaw and slapped his thigh. ‘Who hasn’t? Everyone knows about Est, poor soul.’

‘Est again?’ Sir Peregrine asked, drawing up a stool and sitting opposite him. ‘He’s the man we need to know about. Tell me: who is this Est?’

John took Robert with him when he went to visit the cathedral close. At the Ercenesk Gate they strode past the grinning gatekeeper with their heads held low in humility, ignoring the sniggers and ribald comments of the porter and a couple of lay servants. Instead, fingering their crosses, John and Robert made their way down the track worn in the grass that led over the cemetery towards the great west door of the cathedral.

The sun was shining again now after a short period of gloominess when clouds had blanketed the sun and blocked its gracious warmth, and John had felt the desolation of loss at that time.

There were some in his position, he knew, who were happy to take the wealth of men and think nothing more of the poor dead soul, but he was not one of those. He enjoyed his task, knew he was good at it, and tried on all occasions after a success to compose himself and remember that he had a duty to exhibit meekness and humility. Still, sometimes delight would overwhelm him and he would think of punching the air for simple excitement of a job well done. By taking the money he was helping his Order, and saving a soul.

That canon was strange. There was something about his appearance, as though he knew he should be safe, but somehow doubted it. Guibert should have let John stand against him. There were enough men there to prevent the theft of Sir William’s body. In God’s name, the man’s own wishes were being ignored! It was scandalous!

The money would serve to feed the brethren, keep the chapel filled with candles, and help finance the alms which the friars sought to give to the needy. It was not for personal use, of course. None of them had need of money, because no Dominican held property. They had given up all their possessions so that they might concentrate on their responsibilities. They had the duty to preach and save souls. They weren’t like those leeches the pardoners, who were little better than official thieves who took money in return for pieces of paper that promised spurious security. Like most friars, John had no sympathy with secular fund-raisers of that sort. They spent their time wandering the country, fooling the gullible into giving them their wealth, when all people needed to do was speak to a friar, a man learned in helping the flock. He could listen to their confessions and grant absolution, and that without huge expense. Most people would prefer that, surely, to having to go to an illiterate fool of a parson, who might listen to certain sins with an ear more attuned to his own sexual gratification than to the effect they might be having upon the poor offender.

That was the trouble so often. People would enter the priesthood when they had no vocation. There were so many men in the Church now, and a large number were not there because they wanted to help the poor and needy, but because they were younger sons who had no inheritance, or because they were sick in spirit and sought an easy life in the Church. There were also the corrupt, who saw entry into the Church as a means of inveigling their way into the skirts of the female members of the parish.

And there was more … worse!

‘Look at this place, Robert! Filled with gluttony and greed. The house of God sits amidst this wealth like a solitary beacon, while about her are all these places dedicated to Mammon and self-gratification.’

‘I don’t under-’

‘This place,’ he said, standing still and waving a hand. ‘Here on our left are the great houses of the canons, each of them big enough for several families, all needing magnificent incomes to pay for them, but here they house only the canon and a few servants. Over there is the great house built for the choristers, and beyond it the deanery. All these buildings, all these servants, and yet we know that all a man needs is his bowl and a space to pray. There’s no necessity for these enormous estates and such stolen wealth. The Church is a wonderful institution, but how much more marvellous would she be if she were here in the open for all to share? The Dean and chapter should tear down these houses, remove these proofs of their greed and worldliness; they should give up their incomes for alms to support the poor, and leave this place to go and preach to those who need to hear the Word of God! Instead they rob us!’

He fell quiet again as he caught sight of Peter de la Fosse, the canon who had stolen Sir William’s body. The canon appeared braver now, but there was still something about him, some nervousness that sat oddly with his elevated position. As soon as he caught sight of John and Robert, he looked away as though pretending he hadn’t seen them, but then John saw him casting little glances their way. Probably just guilt, he decided.

At his side, Robert looked about him. John’s fervour was known within the friary, and Robert had honoured him for his godliness many times in the past, but today he was unsure of his companion’s meaning.

Where John saw greed and personal aggrandizement, Robert saw a mess. Before he had joined the Order, he had grown up the son of a rich knight, and been used to the trappings of wealth. To him, wealth meant hunting, resting and playing, with women who could sing and cheer a lonely soul. Here there was none of that. It was all work.

A thick, foul smoke rose from one area near the church’s walls, and stone chips crunched underfoot. The canons’ houses were magnificent, but the canons themselves walked about in austere black, several of them keeping an eye on the building works, while clerks moved among the workers ensuring that they did not slacken. Horses and donkeys wandered in their midst, seeking any forage they might, while the soil from a newly dug grave was being carefully sifted by the fossor, who sought to retrieve all the bones for reinterment in the Chapel of Bones out in front of the west door. It was no paradise, Robert thought, but he let no sign of his own impression fix itself upon his face. Better to humour old John. There was much for Robert to learn from him, after all.

‘And after the Bishop,’ John growled, ‘the most rapacious of the canons is the evil man who is behind this attack on our privileges. The Dean,’ he spat contemptuously. ‘A man so covetous he would steal a corpse from our chapel for his personal benefit!’