The Malice of Unnatural Death

Chapter Thirty-One

Exeter City

‘You will be arrested soon, and when you hang, I won’t be worried. I may die soon without any money, husband, but the knowledgethat you, who put my children into their grave, are dead, will be enough for me,’ Margie Skinner said.

She was sitting at her stool, back resting against the wall with her head jutting as it always did.

Will looked at her, then away. It was shameful. He ought to be able to look her in the face, but he couldn’t. To see thosefeatures, which were still so familiar and lovely in some ways, attached to this ruined body was enough to make his mind wantto burst for misery and horror. She had once been his lover, his beauty. Now she was a foul image of her former self, twistedand deformed by the heat of the fire, like a wax doll.

He had to get out.

‘Where are you going? Trying to run away from them? That coroner won’t let you escape him, husband. He’ll catch you and haveyou dangling. Not the sort of man to let such as you escape justice, is he? No!’

Her poisonous cackling followed him down the street as he walked away, his head hanging over his breast, blinking to clearthe tears.

This afternoon was quiet compared with some, and the air was crisp but dry. He was thinking about finding an alehouse, but somehowhis feet drew him back there, and soon he was standing at the posts that blocked off his house.

The space where Norman Mucheton had lain was clear now. Ivo had gone home as soon as the coroner had declared the inquestclosed and the men had carried the body off, so now there was just the stain on the ground where the man’s neck had bled overthe dirt. Will looked down at it and sighed.

From the ruins of his house there came a rending sound, and, as he turned to look, a beam that had once supported the upperjetty creaked round and started to move. Ponderously, it slid sideways, and suddenly fell to the ground. It crashed to theearth, raising a brown cloud of mingled soot and soil, which almost instantly dissipated.

The ruins were falling apart. Soon even this little memorial to his family would be gone. And then, when Margie and he haddied as well, who would remember his children?

No one. No one would remember them.

Michael stood before them perfectly content. There was nothing even these corrupt bastards could do to him. He’d done nothingthat would earn him a rope, and if they tried to hang him, he’d get the best pleader in the court to protect him. There wasnothing that couldn’t be bought with enough cash. He knew that if little else.

‘You are the owner of this house?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘Yes. It’s mine. Top rented to this fellow, Langatre. Undercroft to a stranger to the city, called John.’

‘From where?’

‘He said he came from Nottingham.’

‘Sad to say, he won’t return,’ Coroner Richard said. ‘He’s had his throat cut.’

Michael blinked. ‘When?’

‘You answer our questions, man! When did you last see him?’

‘Earlier today. I was here, and I visited him. He was perfectly all right then.’

‘How long ago was that?’ Baldwin asked. ‘It will help us to learn when he died.’

‘Only a short while after the end of mass. I attended the church as I do each Friday, and on my way homewards I saw him inthe street here. I exchanged a few words with him, and then continued. There were plenty in the street here who would haveseen us together.’

Baldwin studied him. Short and dark, this man enjoyed life, from the look of him. He had the florid complexion of a regularvisitor to the tavern, and a paunch to match it. From the look of him he was a moderately successful businessman, but therewas an odour about him. ‘You are a tanner?’

‘Yes. What of it?’

Baldwin shrugged. ‘You have been successful.’

‘Is that a crime now?’

‘If success is the reward for theft or illegal acts, yes.’

‘Do you accuse me of illegal acts? Do you think I am a …’

‘What?’ Baldwin asked silkily. ‘Do I think you are a …?’

‘Nothing, sir,’ Michael said, with as much sarcasm as he dared. ‘I should scarcely dream of accusing any man in the city of taking bribesor promises of money in exchange for favours. A man who did a thing like that could look to a short life, eh?’

‘Do you mean to accuse me of breaking the law?’ Baldwin asked, and he was genuinely surprised rather than offended or angry. Theidea that a man might dare to think that he might have done such a thing was startling to him.

Michael stared at him. His small eyes were strained with his poor eyesight, and his peering manner, together with his loweredhead, made him look like a belligerent ox preparing to charge. ‘No,’ he said at last, reluctantly. ‘I’ve heard nothing aboutyou.’

‘Then who?’

‘There are stories.’

Baldwin nodded. There always were. If a man won a certain post, it was sure to be because he had paid well for it; when aman took on a new office, invariably the grantor of that office was thought to look prosperous. And often it was true.

There was no position in the country which did not depend upon a gift. And other officers made their own profits. The sheriff,for example, would often rig a jury at court, either to free the men who had paid him, or to see condemned those who wereenemies of powerful lords. A man could be taken and confined for no reason beyond a bribe paid by his enemy to the arrestingofficer.

It was interesting that this tanner should have taken such matters so to heart, though. Baldwin would expect it from others,but not a lowly leather worker. ‘Forget these “stories” for now, man. What can you tell us of this dead fellow?’

‘I have already told you all I know.’

‘There was a finger in his room. It could be a finger cut from a king’s messenger. Why would your tenant have that?’

‘Master, I inherited this house many years ago when my father died. He was a brewer and had run it as his own little tavern ever since he first arrived here from Warwick years ago,but when he was gone I saw no need to keep it as a drinking house and rented it out instead. The undercroft is damp and cold,and it is hard to coax money from any man for that. When this John of Nottingham came and asked for it, I was happy to rentit to him.’

‘How long has he been there?’

‘A matter of days. No more.’

‘But you say that he asked for you?’

‘He asked me for the room, yes. I suppose he had enquired in the city where there might be a room he could use.’

‘Did he say what he would use it for?’

‘No. I didn’t ask. Why should I? If it suited him, he suited me.’

‘Yes. I am sure he did,’ Baldwin said. ‘And tell me: you say your father came here from Warwick. Was he a freeman when hearrived here?’

‘Yes. He was no runaway serf.’

‘A man of some position, then, to have acquired his own house. And you turned to tanning.’

‘So?’ Michael said defensively. It was not an occupation that would appeal to all, but he had never regretted his choice ofcareer. ‘It makes me a good income.’

‘Yes, I am sure.’ Baldwin sighed a little. ‘Tell me, do you know anything about a man called Walter of Hanlegh?’

‘I have heard of him,’ Michael said suspiciously. He could sense Robinet tensing, and looked his way. The old messenger wasgazing at him with a scowl.

‘What do you know of him?’ Coroner Richard boomed.

‘Little enough. I never wanted to meet a man like him. Always reluctant to tell what he used to do, apparently. You can’t trust a man who won’t even say what he does.’

‘Is that true?’ Baldwin asked Robinet.

Robinet shrugged. ‘He and I worked for the king. We did as we were commanded.’

‘You worked for the king too?’

Robinet set his head to one side and grimaced. ‘Keeper, I was a messenger. Like the man you found the other day down at the South Gate. I was one of the king’s men.’

The world looked a little improved, at first, from the bottom of a leathern jug, but soon the warming flood of ale was depleted,and all that happened was that Jen’s tears felt all the more unsupportable.

He had given her to believe that he loved her. That was the thing. Whether or not she had any feelings for him, he had madeher believe he adored her. It was his languishing expression that had made her begin to feel affection for him in the firstplace. She was quite sure of it. Not that Sarra could see it, but Sarra was so short-sighted, she wouldn’t have seen a knight’sshield if it stood in front of her.

It must be cowardice. That was it. He didn’t want to risk his marriage to the harpy. When Jen had flown from the bedchamberand sought him out in the hall, he had been surprised and then shocked and fearful, because his wife was there too and couldhear every word. Oh, she should have thought it through! If only she had considered, she would have seen how it must affecthim. He was too kind to want to hurt his wife, even if he didn’t love her any more. Surely he wanted Jen still. Perhaps evennow he was searching the streets for her, trying to learn where she had gone so that he could protect her and plan with herhow he could win his freedom. There was no possibility that she could live in an adulterous marriage with him. He must discover ameans of divorce if it were at all possible.

Although the bitch, his wife, might try to prevent him. It was the sort of poisonous thing a woman like her would do. Womenlike her, like Alice, who were born to high families, were frigid. They had no idea of great love. They were bartered andsold for position, like heifers. Surely she couldn’t seek to make him unhappy for the whole of his life, though. She had beena failure as a wife so far, not giving him his children. He needed them. All men did.

But if he was searching the streets for her, she must get up and make herself visible to him. Yes. She stood and left thetavern a little unsteadily, gripping the door-frame as she passed into the street.

There was a gap in the clouds, and the houses on the northern side of the street were lighted with a shaft so bright thatit hurt her eyes. She had to shade them as she made her way over the street and into an alley that led south to the High Street. There she turned left towards the castle.

The High Street was busy now as people hurried to find food for their dinner, and she was knocked about a little as she struggledonwards. And then, as she was coming closer to the castle, she stopped.

There in front of her was her friend Sarra, and as Jen was about to rush to her to beg for money, advice, help, she saw the other face a step or two behind: her old mistress, the poisonous bitch Alice, walking towards her.

‘So, master,’ Baldwin said. ‘Perhaps you should tell us your whole story.’

They had left the street, and at the suggestion of the coroner had walked a short distance to a small alehouse towards the West Gate. Now they stood inside, all with ales in theirfists except Baldwin, who had eschewed the drink in favour of a cup of hot water with dried mint leaves infusing in it. Hesniffed the brew every so often, as though the vapours could remove the foulness of the death he had seen in that undercroft.

‘I was born Robinet of Newington, although everyone calls me Newt,’ the man began. ‘Many years ago I was recommended to theprince, as he then was, and he took to me, and brought me into his household as a cursor, a runner. He’d use me to fetch and carry messages all over the country. As his household grew, so did my duties, and whenhe became king, he kept me. At all times, he was a good, fair and decent master, too.

‘When he was into his second year as king, he had need of more messengers, and he had me take a man on for him, to teach himwhat was necessary. That man was poor James.’

‘You could have saved people some time if you had come forward and told us all you knew at the time of his inquest,’ the coronergrowled.

‘And if I had, you would have arrested me for being his killer.’

‘Why should we?’

‘I was with him on the night he died,’ Newt said. He shivered. Telling his life story was the last thing he had intended todo, but once he began to speak, it was hard to stop with all their eyes upon him. ‘If I had come forward, I thought men wouldpoint to me and say: “He was with James, he must have killed him!” ’

‘It should take more than proximity to have a man arrested,’ Simon observed.

‘Should it? I taught James all I knew. How to find the best resting places, how to make up time when one day goes slowly, where tohave boots mended … for a man walking thirty-five miles a day, there is much to take in. At the end of it all, when hewas as good as I could make him, I saw him clad in my master’s uniform. I was proud for him. Proud! And then, with the endof the Scottish wars after Bannockburn, for a time all became confused. There was less need for messengers to go north, andmany men-at-arms sought new posts, since without the wars they had little to do. And it was rumoured that some of us wouldlose our jobs.

‘The easiest thing would have been to get rid of the older men. All of us knew it. Anyway, it was my own silly fault. I wasin my cups one day and admitted to the bailiff of my local vill, Saer Kaym, that the king had been forced to retreat from Scotland because he didn’t bother to attend mass, he was lazy, and indecent. Christ’s saints, the man enjoyed playing at beinga serf, making hedges and digging ditches. Well, news of my words got back to the king. I was imprisoned. It was not a goodtime for me.’

‘And the man who allowed this tittle-tattle to reach the king’s ears?’ Baldwin asked mildly.

‘As you guessed. My friend James was with me when I said those things to Saer, and he told the king. But the queen intercededon my behalf, and I believed my friend when he told me on the night he died that she only did so because he had told her whathad happened to me. Otherwise I might still be there now.’

‘Still, you did have good reason to wish to curse James at the time,’ Simon noted.

‘Yes. And when I bumped into him here in Exeter, I wanted to grab a knife and end his life there and then for what he did. Except then I saw his eyes, and instead of remembering that one crime against me, I found myself recalling allthe evenings by a campfire, or at an inn. All the dinners we’d taken together, all the ale we’d drunk … it made it hardto stick steel in his belly. And then I saw another thing — he was terrified of me. Terrified! Of me! It made me want to slaphim about the face, seeing that. So when he offered to buy me an ale, I had to accept.’

‘Did he tell you what he was doing in the city?’ Coroner Richard asked.

‘He was bringing messages to the sheriff mainly, although there was something for the bishop too. It was mainly the sheriff. Have you heard of the arrests in Coventry? There has been a necromancer there, who, with twenty or more others, plotted tokill the king and his advisers, if you can believe it! James said that he was here with special writs for the sheriff to arrestany other culprits down here, and then to have them sent to London to be questioned by the king’s own men.’

‘I see. Do you have any idea who could have wanted to see your old companion dead?’ Baldwin enquired after a moment.

‘Ah!’ Newt said. He took a long pull at his ale and wiped his mouth. Speaking thoughtfully, he told them all he could recallfrom that last night when he had wandered drunkenly homewards with James, only to wake the next morning alone, and with abroken head.

‘Do you think James could have done that to you?’ the coroner demanded. ‘He plied you with ale all night and then struck youdown? Hardly credible to me.’

‘Or to me, unless he thought that there was danger ahead. I think he saw someone or something that made him fearful. He struck me to keep me quiet, and perhaps leave me safe, before going on. Or he set me down somewhere safe and someone elseknocked me down.’

‘He was drunk?’ Baldwin shot out.

‘We both were.’

‘Was there blood near you when you woke?’

‘Yes,’ Newt remembered. ‘And on my knife.’

‘Then the riddle is easily explained. The messenger was the target, Master Robinet. You gained your lump when you were knockeddown by an assailant — or two or three — who wanted information from James. I imagine they cut off his fingers while he wasalive in order to prise that information from him. If they wanted to torture him extensively, that would have taken time,and perhaps they had little enough. Still, they got such information as they felt they needed, so they drew a cord about histhroat and killed him. Perhaps in the barn with you, perhaps at the rubbish heap. And then they simply hid him. And therehe might have lain for some while, if a hog hadn’t taken a fancy to his hand.’

‘That is all clear enough. Except, why should the messenger be killed?’ Simon muttered.

‘I think this man has answered that for us already,’ Baldwin said. ‘John of Nottingham was the man Michael said was rentingthat undercroft. And now we hear of a necromancer from Coventry who caused writs to be sent all about the country. Do younot think that perhaps this John could have escaped, only to see the messenger who was carrying messages to have him arrested? What would John do? He paid an accomplice and hunted down the messenger, bringing him to a place where he knew he could overwhelmthe fellow, and when he was sure he had all he needed, he killed James and threw away his body. A callous and barbaric way to treat a Christian corpse.’

‘What of John’s murder today?’

‘I should think that someone who wanted revenge against him must have decided to take action,’ Baldwin said quietly.

‘Me? But I swear, I wouldn’t recognise him if I saw him,’ Robinet said hastily. ‘You must believe me, Sir Baldwin. I had noidea. All I was doing there was watching for the stranger, to see …’

‘Yes?’

‘I wanted to see whether it was the same man I thought I had seen the night James was killed. But from the description, Idon’t see how it could have been. The man I saw was not too tall. But others said the killer was over there at the house.’

‘Well, let us hope he was the killer,’ Coroner Richard grunted heavily. ‘Rather than some poor innocent, eh?’ And he lookedat Newt with a contemplative air.

It was plain enough that he thought Newt had taken the law into his own hands and removed a murderer. And did not disapprove.