The Malice of Unnatural Death

Chapter Ten

Exeter Castle

The sheriff’s wife, Madam Alice, was a willowy blond woman, with the body of a girl hardly out of her teens. All who saw her wereimpressed by her gentle, soft demeanour, her excellent manners, her flawless pale complexion, the eyes of clear grey withlittle flecks of hazel, and her steadiness. There was a stillness about her as she listened to others, as she spoke to them- as she did anything — that was almost unworldly.

Women would mutter grimly about her, saying that there was something ‘not right’ about her. For a woman who was nearly intoher thirty-first year, such calmness and cool beauty, such an unmarred figure, seemed frankly wrong. She looked as though she had made use of spells to keep herself young.

Their husbands would agree with their wives. They would look at Madam Alice sternly, eyeing her perfect oval face with thelittle rounded chin, her soft, slightly pouting lips that somehow always contrived to look moist, and they would turn backto their own women with gestures of concern. But in their minds they had all undressed that youthful figure, they had weighedher heavy breasts in their hands and kissed her flat stomach.

Alice knew that she was the source of jealousy amongst the women of the city, and she knew that their menfolk desired her. It wasnothing to her. She was content with her man, and if none of the women wished for her friendship, that was no matter. Therewere plenty of others who enjoyed her company. The difference was, they were not the rather tatty women from this little provincialcity, but the wives of noblemen. She had even been introduced to Queen Isabella herself on two occasions. No, she had no interestin other men.

The castle was a hotbed of intrigue. She rather supposed it was like the household of the king himself, if a copy in miniature. There were other places which might have been the same size, with similar enormous expenditure in food and drink and cloth- the household of Sir Hugh Despenser sprang immediately to mind — but few could rival Exeter for the sheer enthusiasm ofher disputes. Arguments ran on between the city and the cathedral, between the cathedral and the friars, between the friarsand the monks, between the friars and the city … there was no aspect of city life which was not constantly running contraryto another.

It was a source of amusement to her that so many people strove so hard to make their little marks on the world. Surely anyone of them could see that it was pointless. Great people carved out great lives, and little people from a place like thiswere correspondingly dull and little in comparison. She was born to greatness because she had come from a great family. Herfather was the famous Lord Maurice Berkeley.

From her earliest years she had been highly aware of her position. It was impossible not to be. Her father ranked amongstthe most powerful in the realm, and his army was one of those which was most often called upon to support the king. Every year, so it seemed, while she grew up, the familyhad a ritual sending off of the young men, the knights, esquires, men-at-arms and all their servants, as they answered thecall to help the king defend his realm or attack his enemies. Each year the army would gather, and then drift off, more commonlythan not heading northwards, the sprawling mass of men and horses consuming hundreds of yards of roadway, churning the surfaceinto a foul mixture of mud, discarded bones and broken pots, dung and human faeces. Once, when she was very young, she hadoverheard her mother exclaim that it was a relief to see them all go: there had been scarcely enough food to keep the menfed at the castle and estates, and now that they were gone they could steal provisions from the vills through which they passedand leave the household’s stores alone.

It had been a militaristic upbringing. She had known how to wield a sword and dagger from an early age; she learned both atthe same time as her brother. Although her father had no sympathy for women who sought to equal the prowess of their brothers,he was content to see his child learn how to protect herself. There were few enough defences for a woman in this rough world. Teaching her skill with arms was one of the best methods of seeing his child safe.

Not that there was much safety these days even for her family. Poor Father! He was in his castle much of the time now. Once,only four years ago, he had been so trusted that he had been given the post of seneschal of Gascony and the duchy of Aquitaine- the king’s own representative and commander-in-chief of the king’s forces there in his absence. It had been a wonderfultime for the whole family. Ah! She had been so proud.

Not now. Since the king appeared to have lost his mind — not a happy thought, and not one which could safely be repeated to anyonenow that his spies were everywhere, but true, nonetheless — and had provoked the war against the Lords Marcher, her father’sfall from grace had been inevitable. The only source of consolation was the fact that her father had surrendered and avoidedinvolvement in the battle of Boroughbridge. So many of his friends and their sons had perished either at the battle itself,or in the reprisals that occurred up and down the country afterwards. Even here at Exeter there were the remains of one ortwo knights who were thought to have been involved, still hanging from a post outside the South Gate. Almost all the citiesin the land had their own reminders of the king’s brutal retaliation.

She had known King Edward II. The man had never struck her as particularly cruel. It seemed strange to think that he couldhave so changed. Unless it was those devils in human guise, the Despensers. It was much easier to think of them as being responsiblefor the killings. They, father and son, were so avaricious, they would take a widow and torture her to have her sign awayher rightful possessions to them. Like poor Madam Baret.

But no matter who was responsible for it, the fact remained that her father stayed in his castle. He was under suspicion becausea few of his knights had gone to Boroughbridge: Sir Thomas Gournay and Sir John Maltravers, to mention only two, had been forced to fly the realmand find new lives abroad as free-lances. At least there were always places for a man to fight and earn a living, thanks beto God.

What was less pleasant was to reflect on the fate of her brother, also called Maurice. He had been implicated in the looting of Despenser lands and estates, and as soon as the Despensershad survived the last wars they had returned filled with wrath to avenge themselves on those who had taken their plate andplundered their treasure-houses. Maurice had simply disappeared, and although it was rumoured that he was hiding somewherein the country, no one could find him.

She walked into the main hall of the castle, where her husband sat working with his steward, the undersheriff, and his keeperand returner of writs. Madam Alice nodded to her husband, but paid no attention to the scribblers with him. They were onlyservants of one kind or another, when all was said and done.

‘Wife.’

She smiled at him. ‘I shall be walking about the town shortly, husband. Do you wish for anything from the market?’

He waved a hand in bland denial. ‘No, I have all I need, my love.’

‘Then I shall see you later.’

She turned and left the hall, and behind her heard the sound of the men talking again, the gruff tone of the keeper and returnerof writs, the laugh of the undersheriff, but there was nothing in her mind, as she walked from the hall down to the courtyardand out into the open, grassed area between the castle and the city, other than her coming meeting.

If she had seen the expression of black distrust on her husband’s face, she would have paused to wonder what might have causedit.

Exeter City

Before they left, Baldwin sucked at his bottom lip and took one last look at the body of Mucheton.

‘Was he married? A sweetheart?’

‘I think he was married, yes, but I don’t know the woman myself.’

‘Send someone to find her, and bring news of her to me at the Talbot’s Inn.’

‘I can’t leave my place here, though’.

‘I will send a man to replace you here,’ Baldwin said. ‘You need to be rested.’

He walked slowly after the coroner. Sir Richard took him down the alley towards the South Gate. As they reached the messenger’sbody once more, Baldwin shook his head, eyes narrowed.

‘I find it very peculiar that the bishop could not tell us his name. And it is more strange still that the fellow should diewithin a short while of being in receipt of a message from the bishop. But for now, what we need to do is speak to all thosewho have had anything to do with his fellow’s death. As soon as you have held the inquest, I should have him carried awayto the nearest church ready for his burial, poor soul.’

‘HOI!’ the coroner boomed back at Thomas. ‘You! What is the name of the man who found this fellow? Older man, looked like a harethat’s been chased by the hounds too long?’

‘It was Will Skinner, the watchman from the gate.’

‘Does he live there?’ Baldwin glanced at the gatehouse and again felt like a man about to enter an ambush. It made a chillwash through his frame, and he had to wrap his arms about his breast to calm the shiver that threatened. And then he saw something. In a low window to the left of the main gate, he was sure that he caught a fleeting glimpse of a pale face. He kept his eyes on that little gap as he listened to the response.

‘Next to it, in that small cottage, aye. But he’ll be asleep by now, I reckon.’

‘Really?’ the coroner said. ‘How quaint.’

His manner was one of simple amusement, but Baldwin did not feel the same lightness of spirit. The sun was being smotheredby some grey, unwholesome-looking clouds as they made their way to the gate, and Baldwin kept his eyes on the window all theway until the opening was out of sight, wondering who had been watching. It didn’t matter: surely it was only a child watchingthe two king’s officers at work, or perhaps a servant.

No, he must put the thing from his mind. Feeling a pattering on his head, he looked up to see a fine spattering of hail fallingfrom the leaden clouds. It didn’t bode well for the rest of the day, he thought as they reached the door. The keeper of thegate lived in the rooms built into the gateway itself, but the watchman had directed them to a small building to the rightof the roadway, a ramshackle affair that was almost a lean-to shed with a thick roof of thatch sorely in need of patchingor renewal.

Baldwin shot a look about them, and then rapped smartly on the timbers of the door. They were all mis-sized, fitted togetherinexpertly, and would provide little defence against the elements. Just standing outside here, Baldwin was aware of the windthat whipped along the line of the wall from the quay over to the east, and straight over as though using the wall as itsown roadway.

‘Piss off!’

The coroner turned and looked at Baldwin. There was an expression of mild pain on his face. Then he closed his eyes for a moment,and Baldwin was about to knock again and call out his title, when the sound of the Coroner’s deep intake of breath warnedhim, and he took a quick pace backwards.

‘Hoi! You festering piece of dog’s turd, OPEN THIS DOOR IN THE NAME OF THE KING!’

In what was for him a whisper, the coroner added for Baldwin’s benefit, ‘I tend to find that voice works with reluctant witnesses.’

Baldwin was not surprised. Nor was he surprised when a few moments later he saw an eye appear in one of the cracks, an anxiouseye that stared at him for a short while. Shortly thereafter there was the sound of a wooden beam being lifted from its rests,and the door was opened, scraping over the dirt and making an arc in the soil of the floor.

Entering behind the coroner, Baldwin found himself in a small, noisome dwelling, with a mess of dirt on the floor, a singlesmall table and stool, and a filthy palliasse. The smell was a mix of damp dog, urine, and sweat, all mingled in an unwholesomefug. There being no window, the only light came from the doorway through which they had just entered, and in it Baldwin couldsee that the whole of the rear wall was red sandstone like the rest of the city wall, although here it was streaked with greenwhere water was leaking at the junction of the roof and the wall itself. The water puddled at the base of the wall, makingthe floor perpetually damp through the winter. Perhaps in consequence, because it would have been difficult to light a fireand keep it going, instead the watchman made use of a charcoal brazier for his heating. There was one small cauldron for heating water and perhaps making a pottage, but apart from that Baldwin assumed that Will Skinner ate at a pieshop or bought an occasional loaf of bread. There was no sign of any cooking.

‘You remember me from this morning?’ the coroner said, and in the small room it sounded like a bellow.

‘You are the coroner,’ the small man said, and he almost shivered as he spoke. It was plain to Baldwin that the fellow wasentirely unused to being questioned by men of such standing, and he didn’t enjoy it. He had been asleep, from the look ofhis bleary eyes.

‘What do you want with my man, then, eh? You going to try to have him arrested?’

Baldwin and the coroner spun about to find themselves confronted by a woman. In age, she could have been anything from fortyto seventy. Her face was dreadfully scarred, and she was bent like an old crone, but Baldwin had seen a woman like that before- the survivor of a siege who had been engulfed by flames in a final assault.

‘Mistress, you are this man’s wife?’ he asked.

She peered up at him, turning her head sideways to accommodate her bent spine. ‘You guess well, master.’

From nearer, he could feel sympathy for her. Lank hair straggled at either side of a long, thin face pinched with the griefthat was reflected in the eyes. Intelligent, they were red-raw with weeping, and Baldwin had the impression of paleness, asthough all the crying had washed the colour from them. She was an aged peasant woman in shabby clothing, and clearly painand she were long-standing companions.

‘Woman, I am the coroner, and I would speak to him. Pray sit and don’t interrupt,’ Sir Richard said.

To Baldwin’s surprise she made no protest, but walked over and sat down on the stool, one arm on the table while she turned andlistened to the men talking.

‘Now, fellow. This friend of mine here is the Keeper of the King’s Peace, and he has some questions for you. So listen andanswer honestly. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Baldwin was tempted to suggest that they leave the hovel and speak outside, but even as he considered the suggestion therewas a rattling, like gravel thrown at a wall, and when he glanced out he saw that there was a sudden shower of hail. Steelinghimself, he faced Will Skinner.

‘The man you found out there. You found him because there was a hog there?’

‘Yes, it was chewing at something, and I saw the blue and thought to myself that it looked like cloth. So I chased the bruteaway, and saw this fellow’s arm. I thought, “That’s not right,” and pulled at it, and there was the man. So I raised the hueand cry.’

‘Very good. Did you recognise the man? Have you ever seen him before?’

‘Not likely, sir. I’m the night watchman for this area. He’s not the sort of man I’d expect to see down here at night. It’sdrunks or men wanting the stews I tend to see. During the day, I try to sleep,’ he added with a sidelong glance at the coroner.

‘So do I, my man!’ Coroner de Welles said, and laughed long and hard.

‘In the time while you were raising the hue and cry, did you leave the body alone? Could someone have got to it and searchedit?’ Baldwin wondered.

‘You mean, have a look in his pouch? No, I don’t think so. When I found him, I pulled his arm free, and tugged hard enough to know that the whole body was there. Soon as I feltthat, I stopped pulling, and left him instead. If anyone had tried to get into his pouch, they’d have had to clear all themuck away from him. No one had, though. When I got back, he was still just as covered in stuff as when I left him.’

‘Was he absolutely cold when you found him?’

‘Yes. Stone cold. But it gets cold here at night.’

Baldwin nodded, his eyes going to the brazier. ‘Do you keep that going all night, then? Somewhere you know you can come toget a warm-up when you need it through the dark hours?’

‘Well, yes. There’s nothing to say that a watchman has to freeze,’ Will said truculently.

‘No, I was merely wondering how long you have to spend on your patrol, and how long back here indoors to warm up again. Itcould have a bearing on when the man was killed.’

‘I …’

‘Because it is mightily unlikely that he was murdered and dumped in that pile of rubbish during the day, isn’t it, Will?’the coroner added.

‘Why?’

‘Because, my fellow, the damn roadway is full of people during the day, isn’t it?’ the coroner explained testily. ‘How could someone walk round there and happily throttle a man in broad daylight?’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, “Oh”, as you say. So how much time do you spend outside compared with inside?’

Baldwin was struck by the man’s evident nervousness as the questioning continued. He was not the kind of man to impress as a reliable witness.

‘I don’t spend much time indoors — I would lose my position if the city’s receiver thought I wasn’t doing my job.’

Baldwin wondered if that might be a cause of his nervousness: the simple fear of being thrown out from a job like this. Itmight not be lucrative — judging from how the man lived it could scarcely be less so! — but nor was it strenuous, and theman had an easy enough time of it. ‘We will not discuss your strengths or otherwise with the mayor or his men,’ he said briefly.

‘Well, perhaps I do take some breaks when the weather really is bad. Last night it was so cold, I had to keep warming myselfat the brazier. Few nights ago, some men had lit a fire in the street near the bishop’s palace gate, but there was nothingyesterday, and by the time I’d walked up there I was perished.’

‘What area do you cover from here?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Oh, I’m supposed to walk from here up South Gate Street, then up along the lane towards the Bear Gate, before turning backtowards here again, coming down to the Palace Gate, straight on south to the wall, then up the alleys between the Bear and Palace gates. Sometimes I go the other way about, for the variety.’

‘So, you would occasionally have to come back here after walking the circuit. I suppose when it was that cold, other peoplewould hardly be about much anyway, would they?’ Baldwin said. It was clear enough what the man was up to. He’d walk aroundthe perimeter of his patch, then stop back at his hovel to warm himself and forget about criss-crossing the smaller alleysand lanes.

‘No one in his right mind would be out on a night like last! It was terrible. All the puddles had frozen. God’s teeth!

This morning when I tried to break the ice in my bucket, I couldn’t: the water was frozen right to the bottom!’

‘So a sensible man would have spent much more time indoors, then,’ Baldwin said. ‘I suppose that you saw absolutely no onewhile you were supposed to be walking your rounds.’

It was there: a not-so-subtle shift in the man’s stance, and then his head dropped a little, and his eyes moved away.

‘In the night, you sometimes see shadows and imagine a man, I suppose.’

‘That doesn’t answer the keeper’s question,’ Coroner Richard pointed out forcefully.

‘Did you see someone?’ Baldwin pressed him.

The watchman shook his head hopelessly, and Baldwin suddenly realised that this was the aspect that had made the man so nervous: it was nothing to do with the fact of being indoors when he should have been walking his territory, it was something else- a man he had seen while out on his walks.

‘Who was it, man?’ Coroner Richard demanded. ‘It’ll all come out in the end, but the fact that you forgot to mention it beforewon’t look good unless you make up for your forgetfulness now, and quickly!’

‘When you’re out, you can imagine things, yes? I wasn’t sure if I saw anyone at all. It was a shadow, that’s all. Just a movingshadow in the moonlight. There was only a brief glimpse …’

‘Where was this “brief glimpse”?’ Baldwin asked patiently, but with a hint of steel in his voice.

The man sighed and closed his eyes for a long moment. ‘I was up past Palace Gate, walking down this way again, and it was towards the middle of the night. I know because of the cathedral bells. They were tolling for Matins when I sawit, so it must have been …’

‘Get on with it,’ the coroner growled.

‘Well, I was past the entrance to the little alley, the second after South Gate Street, when I saw something down in the alley. I looked down it, because I wasn’t sure I’d seen anything, holding my torch up high, and I was almost sure that there wasa flash of paleness.’

‘What does that mean?’ Coroner Richard snapped. ‘Be precise, man!’

‘I thought it meant that there was man down there, that I’d seen his face,’ the fearful watchman explained. ‘My torch couldlight quite some few yards well enough, especially with the moon’s light falling down in the alley too. I thought it was aman in dark clothing.’

‘But you didn’t go down the lane to check?’ the coroner said accusingly.

‘That was it: I did! I was really scared, sir, but I did go in. And I thought I saw a man, but then he disappeared, and when I got there, there was nothing. Only …’

‘Spit it out, man, in God’s name!’ de Welles blurted.

‘There was a cat. A black cat. It yowled at me as I approached, and I almost stained my hosen at the sudden noise. Christalive! If you could have heard that sound down that alley!’

‘I have heard cats before,’ Baldwin said wearily. ‘In many alleys. Even, occasionally, in houses. You were startled, then?’

‘Startled? I was terrified, sir! I had seen a man, and now he’d gone and here was this cat! I tell you, I turned and fledthe place!’

‘Because of a cat?’ Baldwin asked scathingly.

‘There are some say …’

‘Yes, yes,’ Baldwin said impatiently, ‘sorcerers!’

Will didn’t meet his eye. ‘Necromancers can change themselves into cats,’ he agreed.