The Chapel of Bones

Chapter Nineteen

Simon and Baldwin left William on his bench, and soon they were making their way back along Nicholas’s Street to Fore Street, and then up towards the Cathedral.

‘So you thought the same as me?’ Simon said as they walked, his face wreathed in frowns.

To his secret pleasure, Baldwin’s expression had lost its haunted look. ‘If you mean,’ he demanded acerbically, ‘did I think that much of what that man said was true, then yes, I did.’

‘You know perfectly well that wasn’t what I meant,’ Simon said musingly. ‘I was thinking about the dead friar, Nicholas — the man who struck down poor Vince. If it’s true that someone there was disloyal, it must have been Nicholas — and someone killed him for it.’

‘You think that the whole affair could be due to a man who seeks revenge, all these years later?’ Baldwin queried.

‘It would make sense. The friar had struck down the only man there who was trying to warn the Chaunter. Surely he must have been the traitor.’

‘That would seem true enough,’ Baldwin agreed, ‘but that hardly helps us. The two victims, Henry and Nicholas, seem to have nothing in common other than the fact that they were there in the Close that night. Henry was on the attacking side, and Nicholas on the side of the Chaunter …’

‘Baldwin, you are slow tonight,’ Simon said with a smile. ‘They were on the same side. That’s what I mean. I reckon Friar Nicholas was trying to shut Vincent up before the trap had been sprung; that was why he pulled out his dagger and silenced the poor fellow. And then the others, including Henry, attacked them.’

‘But the friar was nearly killed,’ Baldwin objected. ‘Surely no man would agree to those wounds on his face and body just to add verisimilitude to the story of his loyalty?’

Simon shrugged. ‘It was dark, they were in a mêlée, there was a racket of men shouting, weapons clashing … what else would you expect? Someone accidentally slashed at him, trying to hit someone else, and that was that. End of his good looks. If he was the cause of the Chaunter’s death, he deserved it.’

‘Perhaps so,’ Baldwin agreed. Yet he still wore a puzzled frown. ‘But who, in that case, could have wanted Henry dead?’

‘Could Henry have been the man who planned it?’ Simon wondered. ‘His wife might know. We could return and question her.’

‘I do not think that will be necessary. First let us go and speak to Joel once more. He might become more helpful when he hears that William has already spoken to us,’ Baldwin said.

‘In any case, Henry seems a likely man to have thought through the plan and left the hint that the Bishop was planning on using the Chaunter as a lure to draw the attack’s sting.’

‘Possibly, but it’s more likely to have been a man of action like our friend William.’

‘The man who took his opportunities,’ Simon said drily.

‘I did not warm to him either,’ Baldwin said. ‘My impression was that he was quite an astute fellow — he could be a good tactical commander of men in a battle.’

‘Perhaps, but what was he like when he was a lad? Cunning and quick-witted no doubt, but to invent a ruse like the one used against the Chaunter would have taken more intelligence than he possessed,’ Simon said. ‘You know how people are: some will learn from experience, but others can imagine an outcome and put in place a plan to achieve it.’

‘Why are you so convinced he’s not like that?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Look at him! His sole ambition was to get to be a warrior, working for the King. That doesn’t take brains, does it? No, I’d expect that sort of devious plot to come from the kind of man who’d get to be a master of the Freedom of the city.’

‘Oh! You think it must have been Henry, then? Why not Joel or someone else?’

‘I do not say it wasn’t,’ Simon frowned. ‘But I think the murderer could reckon it was Henry, and might have killed him for that reason.’

‘True enough,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘So who else should we suspect? We know of William and Joel.’

‘And this fellow Thomas,’ Simon pointed out. ‘He would seem a likely candidate — especially as he was guilty enough to leave the city in the first place, and now since his return all those who could have known him have died. First Henry, now Nicholas.’

‘And we have heard that Udo was angry about being refused the right to marry Julia Potell,’ Baldwin recalled. ‘It is possible, I suppose, that the friar was a witness to Henry’s murder by Udo, and then Udo was forced to return to remove him too, although …’

‘Yes, Baldwin?’ Simon asked after a moment or two, but his friend shook his head.

‘Nothing.’ Baldwin could not confess to his strange loathing for the Charnel Chapel. There was something bad about the place, he felt. And surely that had coloured his judgement. ‘I only think that the murder of the Chaunter could have something to do with this. Why else would Henry have been left in the Charnel Chapel, and why should Nicholas have been killed there, his body later moved …’

‘Putting the body near the Cathedral would shove all the blame and suspicion onto Thomas,’ Simon said musingly. ‘It would be a shrewd move to distract us towards him.’

‘Perhaps it would,’ Baldwin said.

‘So we have to consider William, Joel and Thomas because they were all involved in the original attack,’ Simon concluded. ‘And Udo because he had his own motives … Right! What shall we do now, Baldwin? Should we report to the Dean first?’

‘All we have is speculation, so no, let’s go to Joel first.’

‘You don’t want to see Sir Peregrine, do you?’ Simon grinned.

‘He would see me choose between the Lord Hugh de Courtenay and the King,’ Baldwin protested, ‘and I will not. I have enough allegiances already: my family first, my King second.’

‘Sir Peregrine will try to persuade you otherwise?’

‘Sir Peregrine is a loyal servant of Lord Hugh. He sees the King as a spendthrift and wastrel who will plunge the country into chaos if he is not restrained. The last few times I have seen him, he was trying to forge alliances against the King with the Marcher Lords, but now that they have been destroyed and the rebel leaders killed or exiled, I do not know what he plans. All I do know is, I do not wish to be thrown into a new plot against the King. He has shown his disdain for convention when he captures traitors. I’ll have no part in that.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Simon said. ‘Still, we’ll have to see Sir Peregrine at some point. I think that we should go now.’

Baldwin grunted but did not argue further. He knew that Simon was correct, but Sir Peregrine was the sort of knight who could put a man in danger’s path unintentionally, and a man who was forced into confrontation with the King was likely to pay for his temerity with his life, his possessions, his lands, everything. Baldwin did not value his own life too highly, but he did value his manor, and the fact that it represented the only means of support he could leave for his wife and daughter. He would not risk them.

Sir Peregrine de Barnstaple smiled as the Keeper and his friend entered the Dean’s hall. Dean Alfred was talking quietly to Stephen and Matthew, studying their rolls of accounts, and he waved to Simon and Baldwin, motioning towards Sir Peregrine and the jug of wine.

Sir Peregrine sipped from his mazer, then rose to offer his hand to both. ‘Sir Baldwin, it is a delight to see you again. And Bailiff Puttock, I am pleased to see you looking so well. I have heard from the Dean that you both undertook a pilgrimage. I congratulate you on the success of your journey. You must tell me all about it.’

The Bailiff did look well, in fact, Sir Peregrine thought, slimmer and with his face bronzed from the sun, although there was a new reticence about him. Still, that was to be expected. Sir Baldwin would have warned him off.

That idea made Sir Peregrine smile wolfishly as he took his seat again. The two were clever enough. Certainly Sir Baldwin was remarkably quick. Some reckoned he could see through a man’s eyes into his very soul, and he was rumoured to be one of the most respected Keepers in the whole of Devon and Cornwall. Still, he didn’t look so bright today. His eyes were duller, his posture a little stooped, as though he was feeling his age. No matter, he’d be an excellent ally for Lord Hugh, if Sir Peregrine could win him over.

There would be another war sooner or later, and there was no telling how many would die. The King’s friend, Despenser, grew ever more voracious in his rape of the kingdom. The bastard had sewn up government to his benefit. No one could speak to the King without Despenser’s approval, which meant paying him. Now it was impossible for any man who had been robbed by Despenser to win justice, because the Despenser refused to allow them to plead their case before the King.

This situation had been going on for years, but the mood of the country was growing restless. The man was a tyrant, and his reign could not last for ever. Since the Battle of Boroughbridge, at which the forces of Earl Thomas of Lancaster, the King’s cousin, had been entirely destroyed, the knights who had been in his party chased through the kingdom and, when captured, slaughtered, their bodies separated and sent to all points to be displayed as the limbs of traitors, people had said little. There was nothing to be done against an all-powerful King, especially one who was prepared to wallow in the blood of his enemies; but now that the Despenser was ravaging all territories, he had succeeded in uniting the realm against the King. Even those who had not yet been on the receiving end of the Despenser’s anger and demands for their lands or wealth, knew that it could only be a matter of time.

‘Have you viewed the bodies, Sir Peregrine?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘I have seen that of the saddler. Unfortunately, the friar’s body has been removed. I shall have to visit the Friary to see that. They insisted on burying him on their own lands. And the mason has been buried, too.’

‘Mason?’ Simon asked.

‘Saul: the man we told you of. A rock fell on him while Thomas was up on the scaffold,’ Dean Alfred explained. ‘He was — um — squashed. A horrible sight. We could have his remains exhumed, of course,’ he said, glancing at the Coroner, ‘but it seems a little drastic. There were many witnesses, and all said it was an accident. Nothing was stolen from the man, and there was no suggestion that anyone had anything but praise for him. He never started an argument or any — ah — form of dispute. Never had a fight.’

‘Who was there when the rock fell?’

‘My Warden of the new Fabric here was on the scaffolding,’ the Dean smiled. ‘But he hardly knew poor Saul, did you?’

Vicar Matthew shook his head. ‘It was a straightforward accident. Thomas was taking the walls down, and one stone fell. It utterly crushed Saul. But there was no reason for Thomas to want to see Saul killed. And he has displayed the most clear and unambiguous proofs of his sadness to have caused the death.’

‘That is true,’ the Dean verified.

‘Was it the falling rock that so damaged Thomas’s hands?’ Baldwin asked curiously, thinking of the linen wrapped about each of the man’s palms.

‘Yes. The rope stripped the flesh from his hands when he tried to stop it falling,’ said the Dean.

‘So he was holding a rope? It must have been a restraining rope,’ Baldwin mused.

‘Yes,’ Matthew said. ‘It was to stop the rock from swinging, and in order to be able to pull it away from the wall as it descended.’

‘I shall have to see what sort of fine his burial too will require,’ Sir Peregrine said with a smile.

‘You must only recently have been made Coroner?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘Oh, yes. I was offered the chance of this job earlier in the summer. My predecessor died — but I understand you were there?’

In a flash, Baldwin saw Sir Roger de Gidleigh’s face as the crossbow bolt slammed into his spine, the expression that burst across his face as he began to die. ‘Yes,’ he said more gravely.

Sir Peregrine saw how his face grew still, and regretted his levity. Fortunately the Dean also noticed, and asked Simon whether they had learned anything about the two murders. Sir Peregrine sat back and concentrated as Simon told of all they had heard.

‘It seems that there are many who would have sought to kill the saddler, then,’ he said when Simon was finished. ‘And as many who’d like to see the friar dead.’

‘Not quite as many,’ Simon said. ‘There were many who’d like both to die, from the frame-maker Joel to the King’s corrodian William; but the saddlemaker had others who’d have liked to see him dead — the German, Udo, for example.’

‘There may well be many more, too,’ the Dean said. It was a proof of how deeply he was considering the matter that his speech was unaffected by stammering. ‘The Treasurer, Stephen, remembers that time. He was here. It was before my arrival, of course, but I have heard that there was great dissension within the Cathedral.’

‘We should talk to Stephen to see which of the men still in the Cathedral were here at that time,’ Simon suggested. ‘We could then question them to see who else had a motive to kill these two.’

‘You think that’ll help?’ Sir Peregrine said. He leaned forward, cupping his mazer in his two hands. ‘If they are guilty of wishing Henry Potell and Friar Nicholas dead, they will hardly tell you. And most of them in any case would declare themselves wholeheartedly behind the Bishop, will they not? How could they admit they were once willing to stand against a Bishop and hope that the present incumbent would not come to hear of it?’

‘We are a different — ah — Chapter now, Sir Peregrine,’ the Dean smiled. ‘Such things do not concern us any more. No, we prefer to see disputes openly aired and discussed. The old ways of bottling up arguments and then causing friction are gone for ever. We will not see them return.’

Sir Peregrine felt the Dean’s eyes upon him and nodded graciously. ‘I am glad to hear it, Dean. We’ll speak to the Treasurer. While we wait, would it be possible for you to ask that the man who dropped the rock on the mason’s head be called here? I should like to speak to this clumsy fellow.’

‘Why? It was an accident. Many saw what happened.’

‘I’m glad it wasn’t another murder! In any case, I have to assess the deodand and ensure that it was not in truth a deliberate killing.’

The Dean was about to speak when he shrugged and called for his steward.

‘The poor fellow will probably be in a tavern somewhere at this time of day,’ he said when the servant had rushed from the room. ‘He will likely be very tired, so please do not be too hard on him.’

‘I shall try not to delay the building schedule, Dean,’ Sir Peregrine said.

They chatted of other matters while they waited for the steward to return, but when he did, alone, Sir Peregrine was not unduly surprised. As the Dean had said, the man was probably drinking off a tiring day in the nearest tavern. ‘He’s left for the night?’

‘Dean, I am afraid Thomas has fled,’ the steward told him. ‘The Master Mason tells me that all his tools are gone too.’

Baldwin shot a bitter look at Simon. ‘We should have questioned him more closely!’

‘I commanded that he should be watched,’ the Dean said with a frigid calmness.

‘The guards say that he looked as though he was going to escape through the Fissand Gate, but he saw them and ran back towards his hut. They thought he’d changed his mind. He didn’t leave by another gate. They asked.’

The Coroner leaped to his feet. ‘Show me this man’s room!’ he snapped to the steward and hurried from the room with him. Simon and Baldwin gave their thanks to the Dean, and followed him.

‘So, Sir Baldwin,’ the Coroner called over his shoulder as he threw open the door to the Close. ‘It seems our killer might have been in the Cathedral after all! Even if he was only a mason, he would be able to kill with ease inside the precinct. And now he is trying to escape the city, since he knows we are on his trail.’

Peter, the acting Prior at St Nicholas, was sitting at his desk in his hall at the Priory when the rough knocking on his door woke him from a reverie.

Sitting here, he had suddenly imagined what it would be like to actually be recognised as Prior. If only he could take that position, and with it enjoy the power and influence it brought, he could work through to the end of his days with satisfaction. He would have achieved something quite fine. It would be enough to satisfy him.

The post was not all-powerful, but with an accommodating and compliant Abbot at Battle, and he and the new Abbot had always been reasonably close, there was every possibility that he might be able to wield a free hand. That would certainly be his hope. And then, what a life he would have! To be master of a Priory like this in a major city was to be the ruler of a small, self-contained principality. He would have complete control.

Yet the investigation into that idiot saddler’s death was enough to bring the matter of Chaunter de Lecchelade back to everyone’s minds, and then he’d be without a chance yet again. There was no possibility of his being able to survive the renewal of interest in all that. He’d be ruined.

He had just reached this conclusion when the knock came, and it explained his harshness of voice and manner as he recognised his corrodian. ‘What is it, William?’

‘That’s no way to welcome an honoured guest in your Priory, is it?’

Peter eyed him like a King watching a poisoner in his kitchens. ‘You may be honoured by others, but to me you are only a man I used to know, who made his way in the world by dishonesty.’

‘Not dishonesty … just judicious use of the truth,’ William said. ‘But you and I need to talk.’

‘Those two have rattled you?’

‘They know more than I’d have guessed,’ William nodded. ‘They know about all of us. I suppose Joel told them. It means we’re in trouble. It’s likely to get out, unless we can shut them up somehow.’

‘And how would you propose to do that?’ Peter asked. ‘Perhaps quieten everything by slaughtering the pair of them? That would certainly stop all investigations in their tracks.’

‘Yes, it might,’ William smiled.

Peter was about to snap at him when he realised that William was being honest. Speaking carefully, he said, ‘I do not think that their deaths would succeed in stopping all debate. In fact, I feel that it might lead people to associate these recent deaths with that of de Lecchelade.’

‘It may be a risk worth taking. Whoever comes afterwards to look into things will be likely to find an easier target than us. He could be more easily manipulated than these two.’

‘You didn’t think that you could persuade the Keeper and Bailiff to leave the matter?’

‘No. They’re committed to finding a killer.’

‘Which means you’ll not be able to remain here. Not if it becomes known that you helped kill de Lecchelade and then benefited from his death by throwing the blame onto de Porta and the gate-keeper of the South Gate. That wouldn’t reflect well on you, would it?’

William looked at him but now the smile was wiped from his face like chalk from a board. ‘It would not reflect well on a Prior either, if it came to be widely known that he was a convicted murderer.’

‘All know of me, William. I submitted to the Church’s justice and was exiled for many years.’

‘Aye. And now you’re back and want this Priory all to yourself, don’t you?’

Peter made a dismissive gesture. ‘I will never have it. That much is clear, and I have grown accustomed to the end of my ambitions. Nay, I shall remain here as a monk and pass on the power to my replacement and successor.’

‘I won’t leave! Not without a good fight first,’ William swore.

‘What do you mean?’ Peter demanded. ‘I won’t have you committing bloodshed, Will. You are a corrodian now, man. You must not bring the name of this place into disrepute.’

‘Oh, I won’t let anyone know it’s anything to do with the Priory, don’t you worry, Peter,’ William said. ‘But I won’t stand by and see my place here put at risk by these damned inquisitive fools. No one will take my pension from me!’

Simon reminded himself of the strange coincidence of the man’s name and age, and wondered if it was in fact a mere quirk of fate. The mason had been surly and suspicious when they spoke to him. To learn that he had been responsible for another death, although it was apparently an accident, was still more curious. One coincidence was possible, but adding together the facts that a man like him had been involved with Joel and Henry all those years before, that he had been in the area when the friar had been murdered, and had even been seen talking to him, and the fact that he sounded like an Exonian even though he denied it, all added up to a suspicious chain of evidence, especially now that he had apparently fled the city.

‘Did anyone see him go?’ he asked when he reached Sir Peregrine and the steward at a small shack in the workmen’s little shanty town.

The steward shook his head. He was a small, birdlike man with very bright brown eyes. ‘No. The guard sent to stop him didn’t see him go. About here, all those I’ve asked said they thought he was still here, but no one’s seen him since mid-afternoon.’

The room in which he had lived was a rude hovel knocked up by a carpenter with little time for fripperies. It had plain beech walls that once had been lime-washed, a rough shingle roof of chestnut, and little by way of decoration. One stool, without even a table to sit at, and a wooden bench on which to lay his palliasse were the sole concessions to a man’s comfort. It was a sad, bare little chamber.

‘Nothing here at all,’ Simon noted. ‘He’s clearly run.’

‘And the gates are closed now,’ Sir Peregrine commented. ‘We should set off after him instantly … but it may be better to wait until morning.’

‘Far better,’ Baldwin said. ‘But it would be worthwhile to send to all the gates to ask whether a man answering his description has actually left the city today. Could you arrange for that, Steward?’

‘Of course.’

‘In the meantime, perhaps we should go and take our rest,’ Baldwin said. ‘We shall be awake early.’

Sir Peregrine smiled coldly at that. ‘I shall walk to the inn with you, Sir Baldwin. I am sure that we have much to discuss.’

Baldwin demurred, pointing out that Sir Peregrine had already been forced to ride a great distance that day, and suggested that they should all go to Sir Peregrine’s inn. Accordingly they left his address with the steward for any messages from the gates, and then made their way to the Blue Boar, where Sir Peregrine was staying.

In the low parlour at the middle of the inn, Sir Peregrine sat and motioned politely for the others to do likewise. ‘We have had our disputes in the past, but I am sure we can help each other now.’

‘I am interested to know how the Lord de Courtenay could release you from his side. Surely he relies on your advice, Sir Peregrine,’ Baldwin said disingenuously.

Sir Peregrine looked at him long and hard. ‘My Lord de Courtenay feels that other advisors could be more suitable for the present climate.’

‘Since the Despensers are now supreme?’

‘Precisely,’ Sir Peregrine said bitterly. ‘He feels that the Despensers are likely to be in power for some years, and he would prefer to keep his head on his shoulders for the time being, rather than risk having them parted by the executioner’s sword.’

‘I heard that Earl Thomas was hanged like a common felon,’ Baldwin noted.

‘A shocking punishment,’ Sir Peregrine nodded. He added drily, ‘And it led my Lord to decide that the advice of his most loyal advisor might be suspected as biasing him against the King, so that advisor must leave his household. I was told to go.’

‘Although you still owe him your fealty?’

‘Of course. That was to death. Still, I was forced to seek a new employment, and when I heard that this post was available, I thought that it must at least keep me occupied.’

Simon could understand that. A knight had many calls on his time, what with managing his lands, protecting his serfs and, most of all, seeking to serve his master. If his master did not want him at his side any more, that reduced his workload considerably. Since Sir Peregrine, he recalled, had no wife and had lost his only lover some years before, he was plainly at a loose end. Finding a job like that of Coroner would be a relief to a man with an active mind; as well as being lucrative to a fellow who was corrupt, he added to himself, glancing at the Coroner. Fortunately he was sure that Sir Peregrine was not that kind of man. The bannaret was honourable.

‘Does that mean you will no longer seek to persuade people to take a stand on one side or another?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I have no interest in doing so. In fact, I have been commanded not to do so by Lord de Courtenay,’ Sir Peregrine smiled.

‘In which case, let us discuss this strange series of murders,’ Baldwin said more happily. ‘Was there anything about Henry Saddler’s body which struck you?’

‘It was more a case of what didn’t strike me,’ Sir Peregrine said.

‘Oh? In what way?’

‘His hands weren’t bound, his head and face unmarked so far as I could see, and there was only the one blow. It showed that he trusted his attacker enough to turn his back on him, and that he was not captured and later killed, but simply taken, or jumped on, when he was unawares. That means it’s less likely a planned killing, more probably a spur of the moment attack.’

‘Perhaps. Unless someone sent a message — for example, inviting him to meet a third person in there, and only when he entered did he realise someone was already there — concealed behind the door, perhaps? — who leaped upon him as soon as it was shut?’

‘Possibly. This man Thomas could have been there on the scaffold, seen Henry enter the Close, followed after him until he entered the chapel, and then taken advantage of the situation and killed him.’

‘It seems like too much of a coincidence. Why should Henry have gone into the chapel in the first place?’

‘Thomas could have sent a message asking Henry to meet a man there. Perhaps he sent it in the name of William, since they knew each other.’

‘But why,’ Simon interrupted, ‘should he go to the chapel? Surely Henry would be unlikely to trust a man like William at the best of times, and entering a quiet charnel with a man you don’t trust would be folly.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘But it could have been a message in the name of someone whom Henry would have trusted. We can check later. As a hypothesis it works — Thomas invented a message, sent it, waited on his scaffold from where he could see all the entrances to the Close, and then, when Henry entered the Close, Thomas descended and either walked inside first, or hung about until Henry was inside. Then Thomas walked in, killed him and left again, went straight back to his ladder and got on with his work. The others there might not even have noticed his departure.’

‘What of the second killing?’ Sir Peregrine asked.

‘The case of the Friar, I confess, is strange. We think he died in the crypt,’ Baldwin said and explained his reasoning about the movement of the body.

‘That must mean that the body was moved to make it more conspicuous,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘After all, it would be safer not to move the friar when he was dead. Why run the risk of being caught in the act unless there was good reason? And what was Thomas’s motive to kill Henry?’

‘I do not know. My suspicion is, like yours, founded solely on the man’s sudden disappearance. Why kill the friar? Perhaps because Nicholas saw him kill Henry. And as for Henry — I cannot tell why that should have happened, unless there was a longstanding feud between them.’

‘What of the mason Saul?’ Simon asked.

Baldwin shook his head. ‘I can only assume that he was another man who knew Thomas.’

‘You mean that Saul recognised him from the past and threatened to disclose his identity?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.

‘I suppose so,’ Baldwin said. ‘Thomas may have feared the disclosure of his part in the murder of the Chaunter.’ He frowned. ‘Although dropping a stone on Saul’s head would be an unorthodox method of murder.’

‘But effective,’ Sir Peregrine said.

‘More lucky than effective, if he meant to murder,’ Baldwin commented.

Simon was still considering the motive. ‘Why would this Thomas suddenly fear recognition? The mason Saul was not a local man — so how could he have recognised Thomas? And Henry Saddler was an accomplice of his, so why should Thomas kill him? As for the friar — well, I suppose he could have seemed a threat, but what if we were right and Nicholas was himself one of the assassins? We thought he might have been in on the plot, didn’t we? What could have made him so uniquely dangerous to Thomas? Also, surely the saddler himself, or the joiner, or even the corrodian, would have the same motivation? I do not understand why Thomas should have decided to enter this killing spree.’

‘We may not understand until we have him in our hands and can question him,’ Sir Peregrine said.

A short while later, Baldwin and Simon decided to leave. As Baldwin said, they would need their sleep that night, if they were to rise early to help a posse seek the missing mason.

As they walked along the road, Simon threw Baldwin a look. ‘Were you persuaded by his protestations?’

Baldwin smiled. ‘Am I so transparent, Simon?’

‘Only to one who knows you, Baldwin!’

They were only a few scant yards from their own inn when they heard the scampering of feet, and Baldwin’s hand went to his sword.

‘Easy, old friend, it’s only a lad,’ Simon said.

‘It is the sound of running steps; they always raise my hackles,’ Baldwin admitted. It was not only the noise and the reminder that even here in Exeter there were footpads, it was the dislocation he still felt — the feeling that he was farther apart from his wife than ever — and the curious menace he had sensed at the Charnel Chapel.

The boy hurried past them and went into their inn. There was a sudden calming of the noise of talking and laughter, and in it, they heard the boy calling for the Keeper of the King’s Peace.

Baldwin glanced at Simon, then pushed his way inside. ‘I am Sir Baldwin,’ he said. ‘I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace. What do you want, boy?’

‘It’s the man who killed my father — he’s tried to rob us, and we need someone to come and take him,’ Dan said, trying not to cry.

Udo had not enjoyed the talk with the Keeper of the King’s Peace and his companion. He was not used to such treatment from strangers, and the thought that the men could have been so suspicious of him was worrying. As an outsider, he knew full well the risks he took in remaining here in a foreign country. If there was to be guilt attached to any man, the population would rather pick a stranger than a local man.

He could ride that storm, he hoped, but what about the assertion that someone had heard Henry rejecting Udo’s offer of marriage? If that should get back to Julia, there could be only one course for her to take, which was to obey his last dying wish, surely? Udo must not let her learn of her father’s words.

So he had the two problems now: the matter of his own guilt being decided by his neighbours in preference to their selecting someone from among their own, and the fact that Julia might discover that her father had set his face against her marriage to Udo.

And the two men, the Keeper and his Bailiff, were the interfering cretins who had exposed him to these problems. He could grow to dislike them both.