The Malice of Unnatural Death

Chapter Thirty-Four

The Palace Gate

It had taken him some effort, keeping up with the old bastard, but Rob was nothing if not persistent. A lad growing in a townlike Dartmouth could be rewarded for being persistent. Standing out of reach of a sailor and watching a ship could show alad when to slip up to the dock and casually slide a hand into a bale of goods to retrieve some little item of value. Yes. A lad with determination and grit could get far.

Today it had brought him right back to the bishop’s palace, though. No further. He’d seen Simon and Baldwin walking away with Robinet, but he reckoned his place was still following Busse. Simon had promised him a penny a day for performing that duty,and that was worth a bit, that was. With any luck, he’d soon get a whole shilling if Busse kept on wandering about, because Rob was competent at merrills and other games of skill or chance. There were few lads of his age who were more capable ofpalming a die when necessary.

There was no telling what the monk was doing in the bishop’s palace. It was plain enough even to Rob that the man had receiveda severe shock when he hurried from the house where the body was discovered in the undercroft. Anyone would have thought hehad never seen a dead man before, the way he darted up the stairs after finding him with that man Langatre, and then stoodabout like a whore in a church, gaping with a daft expression on his face as men eyed him up and wondered whether he was mador murderer.

Rob didn’t much care which he was. So far as he was concerned, the man was a source of money, and that was all. He hadn’tgot to know him on the way here, other than to be insulted by his reference to the ‘boy’, and that had not endeared him to Rob in any way.

There was a noise from a little shed near the gate to the bishop’s palace, and when Rob went and peered inside, he saw a groupof lads, all a little older than him, standing about an upturned barrel, playing some game or other. It made him grit histeeth. He had two pennies already saved in his purse, and with them he felt sure he could fleece these fools and make hisfortune.

He turned and stared back at the palace, chewing at his lip. If he was any judge of a man, that monk was staying put in anice, safe, comfy palace with no risk of sudden death. He wouldn’t want to run out into the streets again, not alone, notfor a long time.

It decided him. He fitted an amiable, slightly foolish smile to his face and leaned round the doorway. Using his broadestcoastal dialect, he said, ‘I’m new here, only up for a couple of days — are you playing a game of some sort? It looks likefun …’

Exeter Castle

Sir Matthew left the hall in a foul mood, and bellowed at his grooms to prepare his rounsey. He would ease his soul with asharp gallop down the road towards Bishop’s Clyst, then on the road out towards Powderham and back. There was little enough business to keep him in the city today, and he could dowith the break. Sweet Mother of Christ, he deserved a little time away after the affair of the mad woman this morning. Hecould still feel the hairs stand up on the back of his neck at the thought of her staring eyes. Jesu, but that had been terrifying. Better to stand in the way of a host of chivalry than remain in the same room as a woman like her.

When his horse was brought, he took it without comment, mounted, and rode away slowly. The bridge over the first defence,the gap in the ramp before the gate, was falling into disrepair. He would have to have the under-sheriff look at it and havethe thing replaced.

It was the same with all the basic fabric of the castle. Only a few of the buildings actually had roofs. Most had lost themover the years, and no one had bothered to replace them. In the same way, the towers were all so dilapidated that they weregradually collapsing. There was nothing to be done with a place like this.

If he had the money available, he would have razed the place to the ground and replaced it with a good, new, warm castle onthe lines of the late king’s castles in Wales. Good, substantial fortresses with firm, grey walls of moorstone rather thanthis soft sandy stuff. But a place like that would cost far too much. The king would never agree to it, not while the citywas so quiescent. In the past, there had been risings here, and men had revolted, but not for many years now. Not since thetallage riots of 1314 had there been any popular gatherings in mutiny — and even that had been in Bristol, not down here in Exeter. At least the Bristolians had the courage of their anger against that tax. Down here the men were more bovine.

He clattered down towards the High Street, glancing about him at the clear space around the castle. On the north and east, thecastle was bounded by the city’s own walls, but to the south and west the walls gave onto the city itself. For protectionthere were no houses allowed nearby, and this clearing meant that any attack would be visible for some distance. Now, though,there were a few apple trees permitted. And city-dwellers were allowed some rights of pasturage on the slopes. There was aflock of sheep there now, grazing quietly on the very last of the year’s grass.

It was a calming sight, a pastoral scene such as he had witnessed for so many years, and a little of the tension he had feltstarted to leave him. The horse under him was eager, and he was growing keen to get out of the city himself. They would bothbe better for a good ride.

Already soothed, he was almost smiling by the time he turned east on the High Street and rode up to the East Gate. He acknowledgedthe porter at the gate, and was about to ride on when he heard the sudden shriek.

He whirled in the saddle and gazed behind him, and saw the woman again. His heart seemed to freeze, and he felt a wave ofice smooth its way over his back as he took in her uplifted arms, her wide eyes and slobbering mouth. He was tempted to ridestraight back into her and run her down, or, better, to draw steel and run her through, but even as his hand strayed to hishilt, he was aware of the porter and all the others there in the gateway. No, he couldn’t do that. But he needn’t hang aroundhere like a cretin.

Turning away, he set spurs to his horse’s flanks and felt the power of the beast as he surged forward, under the old gate,and eastward on the old roads.

Exeter City

She stopped, gaping, feeling foolish in amongst so many others who stood and stared at her as though thinking she was mad. Had he not seen her? Perhaps he couldn’t see her in such a group, with all these others about her. Yes. That was probably it. He had surelyheard her voice, because he had turned as soon as she called out to him. ‘My sweet!’ she had cried when she saw him, and instantlyhe had paused and looked for her. She had seen that: he must have been upset to have missed her. That was it. He had lookedfor her, and when he couldn’t see her he had ridden off in a hurry.

It was tempting to go up to the castle now, to walk straight inside as though she was already married to him, but she knewthat she shouldn’t yet. Her ascendancy was not in doubt, but a certain wariness was making itself felt. Perhaps it would bebetter to wait until Alice was already gone.

She gazed longingly after the man who, she was convinced, loved her more than anything. There was a soft, wistful smile onher face at the thought of him, but then she turned about and began to trudge back towards the city centre. She had nowhereto go just now, and the only thing she could think of doing was making her way to an inn and staying there for a night. Inthe morning she would be able to seek out the sheriff again and make sure that this time he saw her.

‘Are you feeling a little better now?’ Baldwin asked Robinet.

Newt stood at the side of the room, away from the strange devices and implements lying all about the place. There was an unfamiliaremptiness in his soul as he looked about the room. It made him feel desolate. For some reason it reminded him that he wouldnever see his friend again.

After considering him for a few moments, Baldwin suggested that the sheriff’s wife should be taken home again, and after she hadgone with Langatre he stood and contemplated Newt.

‘Your friend was killed for some reason,’ he said. ‘Is there any more you can tell us about him?’

‘What more is there to say? He was remaining outside here to watch for the man he had heard of who could have been the manwho killed James. He sent me to fetch pies for our breakfast, and when I returned he was gone. I thought he must have followedthe man. It never occurred to me that he could be … there.’

‘Do you know who the man was whom he sought to find? If you have any information, it would help us.’

‘All I know is, he said that the man was tall and gaunt-looking. I had thought that the man I saw was shorter, but Walterheard different. I suppose I saw someone else.’

‘Or you were right and he was wrong. How did he come by this description?’ Simon asked.

‘Walter was familiar with people I would never have come to know. It was all a part of his work. He knew those who were involvedin crimes, whereas I only ever mingled with the people who were important in the city.’

Baldwin studied a long-handled sickle and shook his head distastefully. ‘I dislike men like this Langatre who meddle in thingsthey know little about. Fooling about with conjurations … it is ridiculous. A man should be expert in his own field andleave others to their own. I am competent as an investigator — you were a good messenger, I presume? And Walter, he was anexpert in the king’s household. But an expert at what?’

Newt sighed to himself. ‘I have no reason to conceal anything from you. He was a man who would enforce the king’s rule. Sometimesthat would mean that he must kill in order to protect the king. He would remove obstacles to the king’s will.’

Simon’s face clouded. ‘So he was an assassin? We had heard as much.’

‘Yes. But not a mercenary. He would only ever work for the king.’

Baldwin stood and walked about the room, a hand cupping his chin, the other wrapped about his upper body. He didn’t look at Newt as he asked, ‘Did he ever kill a man here?’

Newt cleared his throat. ‘I think so.’

‘Who, and when?’

‘He told me a long time ago that he had to come here when the Bristol men revolted against their tallage. You remember that?’

‘Of course I do. It was the outset of the dread years, wasn’t it? The city was in revolt from 1314 to 1316, when the wholeposse of the county was called out against the men of the city. Was it not Pembroke who had to lay siege?’

‘Yes. I think there were upwards of eighty who were outlawed. It was a disaster, especially coming on the heels of Bannockburnand other failures of the king’s. That was why … well, I was gaoled the year before, in 1315, because the king was waryof any comments that held his authority in contempt. And it was why Walter was sent down here a while afterwards.’

‘Why?’

‘If you knew Walter, you’d know that there was no point asking him something like that. He’d just be quiet, and you wouldn’t want to ask again. However, I have heard that a man died. A fellow called Piers de Caen.’

‘And this was when?’ Simon said.

‘It was the same year as the Bristol riots — the year sixteen. He was calming hotheads here because the king did not wantto see any more challenges to his authority. He couldn’t afford them. Christ Jesus, it was bad enough that he should havelost his greatest friend …’

‘Gaveston?’

‘Yes. So Walter was here, and afterwards, when it came to his leaving the king’s service because he was getting to be quitean old man, well, he thought of this city because he had liked the feel of the place when he had been here before.’

‘So what you’re saying is, he chose to retire to the place where he had pacified the people,’ Simon said with a knowing nod.

Baldwin shook his head slowly. ‘No, I don’t think that’s quite what he’s saying, is it, Robinet? You think he came here forslightly different reasons, don’t you?’

‘He liked it here. He felt safe.’

‘Yes. Because he could cow the people who lived here. Isn’t that right?’

‘I suppose that’s one way to look at it.’

‘Because when he was here, I don’t remember any rioting.’

‘There wasn’t any,’ Simon agreed. ‘Nothing here in 1316 or afterwards — the famine was kicking in by then, after all.’

‘That’s not what he meant,’ Baldwin said, turning back to them and sitting on the table’s edge. ‘No, our friend here is talkingabout a hired murderer who retired to the place where he felt secure because he reckoned he could kill others with impunity. That was how he “pacified” this city, after all, wasn’t it, Robinet? He killed Piers de Caen.’

‘I think so.’

‘And that was the friend you had?’ Baldwin spat contemptuously.

‘He was a friend to me,’ Newt said defensively. ‘All those he killed were enemies of the king. He was no murderer, but a professionalacting in the interests of the crown.’

‘A mercenary,’ Simon said with disgust.

‘No. A king’s man. A man from the king’s household. And honourable. He would only kill quickly and with the minimum of pain. I know that.’

Baldwin’s tone was dismissive. ‘You may do — I do not. Killers are killers, friend. Once a man gets a taste for slaughter,it is a hard habit to vanquish.’