The Malice of Unnatural Death

Chapter Twenty-Two

Exeter City

The coroner had left Baldwin soon after they walked from Madam Mucheton’s house, muttering about having to go and ensure thatthe inquests were properly recorded. Meanwhile Baldwin had walked slowly and musingly along the street up to the Carfoix,where he stopped and looked about him.

This was a strange, bustling city. Baldwin had been to many European cities in his life, and most were similar: noisy, boisterousplaces, filled with excitable people who were devoted to making themselves a little more money every day. It did not matterwhether they were traders, merchants, hucksters, whores or thieves, all had the same motive: to win money from another.

Exeter had impressed him from the first time he had seen the city. It was spacious, secure within its walls, and for the mostpart filled with good, righteous people. But one man he could never bring himself to trust was the most senior in rank: thesheriff.

Sir Matthew de Crowethorne was a politician, and Baldwin detested those who put politics above all else. Sheriffs were notoriousfor their corruption, but there was something about Sir Matthew that struck Baldwin as worse.

All sheriffs would occasionally misuse their powers. Some did it to take money — in bribes, or even in corrupt handling of legalcases, charging money to release known felons. Others would not require direct financial gain: they committed their crimesto demonstrate their loyalty to or support for a lord. There were many sheriffs who were in the pocket of the Despenser family.

This Sir Matthew was certainly happy to take money in return for favours, so far as Baldwin had heard, but he was also keento leave this city and make a name for himself in the king’s court. Not for him the daily trudge about the city performinghis ceremonial and legal duties. Better by far to recline on a seat in the king’s household, drinking and farting with therest of them. The decadence of the king’s court was almost legendary. The trouble with such a man was, he could not be trustedin Baldwin’s estimation. Most men would be keen to behave as their pockets dictated, moving with the whim of their financialadvantage, but Sir Matthew was not like that. He would be more likely to consider any decision with a view to how it mightimpact on the Despensers and, accordingly, how his prospects might be improved by judicious leaking of information to theking.

Baldwin frowned. There was still no connection, so far as he could see, between the murders of Mucheton and the messenger. It was possible, perhaps, that he was mistaken to jump to the conclusion that simply because the two men had died on successivenights, and their bodies had been discovered so close to each other, they must have been victims of the same killer. Perhapshe would be better served by considering both deaths as individual and reviewing them in that light.

It was not good for him to wander the streets like this, though. He craved peace, and just now he craved above all his wife Jeanne. Being apart from her was … unsettling. Curious, because in past years he would not have thought it possible that he might so swiftly grow dependent upon a woman. He had desired them, yes, but would never have thought that one could so entirely win over his heart. That was a surprise.

And yet perhaps it was not just Jeanne — it was also this situation. It worried him that the bishop appeared so determinedto have Baldwin sent to the next parliament, that Walter Stapledon was so keen to see him thrown into the bear pit of nationalpolitics. Baldwin wished to have nothing to do with the affairs of the realm. He was a contented rural knight, when all wassaid and done. Others sought glory and power, but not he. He wished to be left alone to manage his estates. That and a littlehunting was all he craved. There was nothing better in life, he believed.

He recalled the bloody stumps where fingers had been cut from that dead messenger’s hand. Could they have borne rings? Mighta man have detached the finger to gain access to a bauble of some kind? Or was the man simply being tortured for some reason- to say where he had money kept back, or perhaps to explain what he held in his pouch: which was the most valuable message? After all, Baldwin knew already that there was one important message in the pouch of the nuncius. The bishop had hinted as much. If the bishop were offering advice to the king that could be construed as disadvantageousto the king’s friends, or his wife, perhaps, either of them could be provoked into attacking Bishop Walter himself.

Which meant that a fellow who sought advancement, someone who knew of the bishop’s note, could easily betake himself to acquire it and sell it to the highest bidder.

But why harm the messenger? Perhaps because there was a verbal appendix to the note itself? Suddenly Baldwin felt close toan answer.

Simon was already halfway through his second quart of ale when he heard the booming voice out in the road. He paused, hisjug near his chin, mouth partly opened as he listened, and when his ears told him for certain who it was outside, he closedhis eyes in silent despair. He waited, listening intently as the coroner spoke. Every word was as clear as if he was standingin the room next to Simon, and the bailiff gained the impression that Sir Richard’s voice could quell any other sound andforce it to submit.

‘Have the bodies seen to. There’s no point leaving a corpse lying in the street leaking blood and guts all over the place,is there?’

There was a mumble in response, and then a guffaw. ‘You think the poor fellow would give a piss for that? Dear Christ in heaven, I know he’s dressed in a good suit. The watchman wants his suit? Tell him he can have it — but it belongs to the king, andif he wants to argue the toss with the king, he is welcome to do so. It’s none of my concern. The clothes are off him, anyway,so have them set aside in case the king feels a need for them, but I’d give the king a fortnight to decide. If your man doesn’thear, perhaps he could take them without trouble. Still, have the messenger wrapped in some good linen and have him takento the church nearest. They can look to him … no, better than that, have him delivered to the care of my lord bishop. The fellow was carrying a message from Bishop Walter, so I’m sure the good bishop would want to see to the man’s body as best he might … WHAT? Speak UP, man! D’you think I can hear you when you squeak like a mouse? Who’s to pay? EH? How do I know? Ask the good bishop to pay for the linen if the city won’t. Not my concern, is it?’

With the rattle at the latch, Simon felt his heart sink even as he heard the voice roar aloud, ‘BLESS MY CODS! Bailiff Puttock! Now there’s a sight to cheer the heart of a thirsty man in the desert!’

Baldwin had not enjoyed a fruitful afternoon.

Upon leaving the widow and Sir Richard, he had decided to seek other necromancers in the city, but had met with no success. Rather than speak to the sheriff or his men, he had sought out the beadle. At Langatre’s house he had met young Ivo Trempoleguarding the house, who had given him some names, but he looked dubious when Baldwin began to talk about maleficium.

‘If there was a man like that, I’d have heard,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Folks here wouldn’t have much to do with a man who triedthat kind of thing.’

‘I have no doubt,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But if there were someone here, perhaps he could keep his arts secret?’

‘Perhaps,’ Ivo agreed, but without conviction.

Baldwin soon had a list of three men to talk to, but although two admitted to telling the future, and one asserted that hecould perform certain veterinary functions for cows with sore udders or horses with colic, all looked blank when asked aboutmore advanced magic. Either they were very good at acting, or there were no men in Exeter who actively sought such assistance, Baldwin thought.

The third of these had lived a little farther down the road from Langatre’s house, and as he passed by, he saw Ivo Trempole again.

‘Any fortune?’ Ivo asked when he caught Baldwin’s eye.

‘None, I fear,’ Baldwin said.

‘I was thinking …’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, if there was someone in the town, we’d have learned about him. People always spot someone nearby who’s doing strangethings.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. After walking about the city all afternoon learning that no one knew anything that could help him, hewas in no hurry to be told that he had been on a wild goose chase. He moved to walk away. Even Sir Richard’s company was preferableto this.

‘It occurred to me, though, that perhaps this man, if there is one, isn’t a local? Perhaps it’s someone who’s only recentlycome to the city.’ Catching sight of Baldwin’s expression, he apologised quickly. ‘I’m sorry, sir knight. It was silly. Iwas just thinking …’

‘No — you are quite right. This could so easily be someone who has only recently come to the city. It would explain much. But …’ His face grew more lugubrious as he considered the problem. ‘How would I learn whether there was anyone who hadrecently come to the city and might practise the magical arts?’

Ivo screwed up his face. ‘I’d speak to the keepers of the gates. They ought to know if there were any real strangers comingin. They know the regular visitors, like those who supply the markets, and they’d be sure to notice strangers. Try old Halat the South Gate. That’s the main way into the city for anyone usually.’

‘I shall — and, friend, I am most grateful,’ Baldwin said.

As he left Ivo, another thought struck him. If a man was recently arrived in the city, in order to make no noise as he walkedin he must have travelled light. A fellow with a packhorse or a cart would be more noticeable. But a necromancer had needof his tools. Perhaps a necromancer without his tools had come, and required replacements?

It was an interesting hypothesis, anyway.

Robinet stood in the street and stared again at the place where he thought he had seen the man on the night James died.

Ach! It was one thing to think that a man was there in the middle of the night, when it was silent, all the people back intheir homes, probably in their beds, but now? With all the noise and bustle of the city in the middle of the day, it was nearimpossible to bring back to mind that strange memory. The only thing he thought he could remember was that the figure wasshortish, but beyond that the darkness and the ale had wiped the details from his mind.

He had been walking here for hours now, just walking the way that they had come, trying to prompt something — anything — that might help; but nothing occurred to him. At last, now, he was meandering about the place and eyeing the people millingall round, wondering whether a face or shape might prompt something. So far nothing had worked.

‘You still here?’

‘Just looking about.’

Walter looked at him and shook his head. ‘Look, the man who killed him probably had no knowledge who it was he killed. It’snot as though James was a man who would be missed.’

‘He was a king’s man,’ Robinet said obstinately.

‘He was an arse. He ruined you.’

‘It was largely my own fault.’

‘And had you gaoled fine, didn’t he?’

Newt shrugged. It was true, and he had hated James for it at the time. Christ Jesus, the first moment he saw James here in Exeter, he had thought to kill the man. But then he had seen the shadow of the lad he had helped train in the job, and suddenlyall that had been less important. Especially when James had apologised. It was a little thing, but Robinet was not the sortof man to bear a grudge unnecessarily. If James was contrite, and he did appear to be, well, there was little worth in beingangry or bitter about things. The king had forgiven him a long while ago, and Newt was well protected now, with his corrody.

‘Just leave him be, friend. There’s a murder every few weeks here. What’s the point of seeking James’s killer when there areso many others? They never get resolved, and I doubt this one will either.’

‘He was once a friend,’ Newt said softly. ‘That makes it worthwhile for me.’

Walter nodded, but gave a twisted grin. ‘Not for me, though. I’m back for some food. You coming?’

Robinet was tempted. He had been walking and thinking all day without a break, but he shook his head. ‘I’ll stay here a littlelonger. Just to see if I can recognise anyone.’

Walter gave a chuckle and shook his head as he strode off towards his house. He was clearly of the impression that Newt hadlost his senses over this matter.

Well, his opinion was not important, Robinet thought to himself. No. The main thing was that he felt as though he had a duty to find his apprentice’s killer, no matter who that man might be.

From Langatre’s house, it was a short walk up the hill to the main South Gate Street, and thence down to the gate itself. On the way, Baldwin wondered whether he might meet the coroner again, and found himself hoping against hope that he wouldnot. The coroner was a kindly soul, it was true, and generally had a shrewd mind, but his loudness and constant attempts attelling jokes were wearing after a while. Baldwin was happier to try to find out all he could without his company.

The keeper of the gate was standing before the arch with his thumbs stuck in his belt, grinning broadly at the sight of acarter shouting with rage and kicking at his horse. His exhausted old nag stood patiently, head hanging in the shafts, andas Baldwin approached he saw the man aim a kick at her flank. She moved with the pain, but was too tired to do more than shakeher head and whinny.

‘Damned fool. Has turds for brains,’ was the gatekeeper’s assessment. ‘Came in here with his cart overloaded, and then complainswhen the poor beast can’t carry it all.’

‘Does it often happen here?’ Baldwin asked, seeing other splinters and shards of broken wheels about the place.

‘Fair bit. If a carter’s an idiot. The way up here is not so steep as Stepecote, but it’s bad enough. Look at her! She’s carryingfar too much on that cart. It’s his own fault.’

Baldwin could only agree. ‘Master Hal? I have been advised to speak to you.’

‘What about?’ His eyes had hardened instantly, and now Baldwin was aware that the fellow’s smile was gone like frost in thesunshine. ‘If it’s anything to do with my lad, I’ll …’

‘I am trying to learn whether anyone has come to the town recently who might have looked suspicious. I was told,’ he improvisedshamelessly, ‘that you were the most astute of all the gatekeepers, and if anyone was a stranger, and looked up to no good,you’d be the man to spot him.’

‘Aye, well, that’s as may be. True enough, I suppose, but what would you want with the man?’

‘I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace, friend,’ Baldwin said silkily, with just a hint of menace. ‘You can be assured that I have my reasons for wanting to speak to him.’

‘Well, there’s no one I’ve seen entering by my gate,’ the man said shortly, and would have left, but Baldwin shook his head.

‘What does that mean? Hal, you say that no one entered by your gate, but the very way you say it seems to imply that you haveseen something — what?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Let me guess, then. You know about the two dead men. One was a local man, who had few enemies from what I have heard. Hecould have been killed by anyone — but more likely a stranger with a knife than someone who knew him. And then there was theother: a king’s messenger, no less. Someone with a pouch full of important notes for other people. Surely a man who woulddare to kill such a one would dare anything at all. He must be a most dangerous fellow.’

‘Perhaps. Nothing to do with me.’

‘Ah, but a man who knew something and didn’t let me know, that sort of a man would be of great interest to the king himself,wouldn’t he? Because a man like that might just be in league with the man who killed his messenger. The king would most certainly want to speak to him. Or have his expert questioners come and speak to him.’

At the thought of torture, Hal’s face changed. ‘Now, Keeper, there’s no need to think such things. I wouldn’t deceive you… I have seen a man who looked most odd, but it’s surely nothing to do with the murder of the king’s man. I wouldn’t haveheld back anything from his majesty.’

‘Tell me all.’

‘It was Tuesday evening. I was off to the tavern early with my son. I like a drink or two with him, and we were off to thelittle place near Bolehille that’s just opened. Well, we had some of the strong ale there, and when it came to be time toget home, I was a little weak on my pins. Art, he was all right, and he helped me along. I seem to remember seeing a fellowup in front of me. At least, that was what I reckoned at first,’ he added more quietly.

‘What was he like, this fellow?’

‘A shadow. Nothing more than a shadow. He moved along with the speed of a ghost. Slinking along in the darkness, he was. Ithought at the time that he was just a silly dream I had because of the ale, but now … the more I think of it, the less I think I was dreaming.’

‘It was not the dead messenger?’

‘Master, if I’d seen him, I’d have said so. No one wants to upset the king about the murder of his messenger,’ he said sharply.

Baldwin nodded. That much was almost certainly true. ‘What else?’

‘That is it.’

‘No. You are embarrassed or ashamed by something. What was it?’

Hal was about to repeat that it was nothing, but then he lowered his head and stared at his boots. It was hard to confess. He was a stolid man, and proud of his commonsense, but thatsight had given him more of a shock than he wanted to admit.

At last he nodded. ‘I heard about my neighbour. Old Willie Skinner there. He saw something too, the same night, I think. Afigure. I mentioned what I saw to him, and he told me he’d seen the same thing. A low figure. Except when he approached thefigure, it disappeared. Just like mine.’

‘Porter, any man can sidle into a shadow or into an alleyway without resorting to the occult,’ Baldwin growled.

‘Maybe so. But they do say that the devil can make his servants disappear. And witches can fly through the air.’

‘You say you saw a witch?’

‘You can laugh, but there are necromancers about who can look just like ordinary people if they want to. And they will killpeople, so they say.’

‘Who says that?’

‘You know,’ Hal said gruffly. ‘People. Will said he didn’t see where his man went, and neither did I. You can’t explain peopledisappearing like that.’

Baldwin looked at him with pursed lips. It was tempting to say that he could explain such manifestations all too easily, usuallyby the expedient of a convenient rope, ladder or trap door, but this man was already embarrassed enough. Instead he clappedhis hands together.

‘Good. In that case, come and show me where this all happened. Let us see whether I can conjecture a more natural agent foryour vision.’

‘You might have all the time you need, but I don’t!’ Hal spat, bitter at the impression that the keeper was amused by him. He waved a hand about him. ‘Look at all these people here! I have my duty to do until the gates are closed.’

Baldwin eyed him, and then he smiled. ‘I know,’ then: ‘fetch me your son. He can take me to see where you saw this … thisthing.’