The Malice of Unnatural Death

Chapter Three

Exeter City

Master Richard de Langatre was a comfortably-off man. In his early thirties, he had the paunch of a man considerably older, and hischeery smile won the attentive gazes of many mothers of unmarried daughters who saw in him a potential son-in-law. After all,the man from Lincoln was fortunate enough to have a good business and a near-monopoly in Exeter.

He was not the most handsome man in the world. The round features and fleshy jowls showed his financial position, but didnot add to his charm. However, the shock of mousy-coloured hair and his grey eyes offset the appearance of unbending probityand financial expertise. The eyes were too prone to laughter, and the hair would never submit to a comb or brush, always endingup unruly and discreditable no matter what the barber did to it. The first impression was that this man would be pleasantcompany for an evening in the tavern.

Today he had been shopping, a task which he viewed as essential not only to the efficacy of his mixtures, but also to hisreputation. There were some hideous concoctions he had made in the past which now he recalled with fondness. The more foulthe medicine, the more the patient valued it, he believed, and provided that he didn’t kill too many with his potions — and none had died as a direct result of taking hismedicines, so far as he knew — he should find his reputation improving and his purse growing heavier.

This year, ah, this year had been a good one. First the consultation with the sheriff over the little matter with his woman,then some woman who had been nervous about her husband’s learning of her infidelity — she had paid well for the correct answer! — and finally the man who wanted to be abbot. He had been willing to pay well, thank the Lord! Yes, this year had been goodto Master Richard. A good necromancer was always in demand, he reflected happily.

He was back at his room as the sun began to dip towards the west. After shopping he had betaken himself to Suttonsysyn nearthe Guildhall. In there, near the great fire, he had warmed his hands and feet from the chill outside, and partaken of a quartof good strong ale warmed and spiced and sweetened as he liked it with honey. Afterwards he bought himself a few honeyed thrushesfrom a stall, and chewed them standing at the street corner, watching the passers-by.

You could tell much by watching and observing how people walked and talked, he always thought. And just now, people were wary.

It was no surprise. He had been discussing it this morning at the inn. Michael Tanner had been there, and the two had sattogether as they drank, as was their wont. Michael had a friend who was working in the cathedral close, and he was often oneof the first to get news, but today everyone was alert to the latest gossip.

‘It is true, then?’ Richard had asked.

Michael nodded grimly and set his pot aside. He was a short, dark man with a square face and a thin salt and pepper beard. His eyes were sharp and grey, always darting about, watchingto see if anyone was listening to them. ‘Absolutely. I heard it from the steward himself. He was there in the room when theking’s messenger arrived, and heard every word he spoke. The queen has had her household broken apart, her income is slashed,and even her dower has been taken from her. They leave her nothing. It is hard to believe, but my friend tells me that themessenger spoke of the king’s children.’

‘What of them?’

‘All taken from the queen. All being looked after by trusted maids — those trusted by the king, I mean.’

Master Richard whistled low. ‘He must hate her. Do you think he could suspect her of treason?’

It was a proof of their closeness that such a word could be used. Michael and Richard had grown to know each other becausethe latter rented his house from Michael, but they had soon developed a mutual regard. Richard appreciated that. It was notoften that others would respect a man who was a dabbler in magic.

Michael pulled a face. ‘How could a man trust a woman like her? She has French blood, my friend. Her loyalties are split. It’s hardly fair to blame her — but if you were the king, how could you trust a woman who was sister to the French king justat the time that the French are threatening to steal King Edward’s remaining lands?’

Master Richard shook his head at the thought. Since the fight over the French attempt to build a fort at Saint Sardos, the French and the English had been at loggerheads. A truce had been agreed, but that would only last a number of months. Andonce it had expired, the French king Charles IV could all too easily take over all the remaining English lands in France. ‘It is a terrible thing when a man and a woman fallapart. The marriage vows should hold them together.’

‘You can’t expect an Englishman to cleave to a flighty French wench,’ Michael said harshly. He finished his drink and bade Master Richard farewell. Then he leaned down quickly and whispered in Master Richard’s ear. ‘You know, there’s talk that shepaid a man like you to remove her enemy and her husband. That would make a husband think carefully about her, wouldn’t it?’ He winked and was gone, leaving Master Richard with a full pint remaining in his pot, and a delicious rumour to absorb.

The uppermost thought in his mind as he walked homewards was that he would dearly love to meet the queen and see what he couldlearn from her … it was never likely to happen, but she must be a fascinating woman. Especially when she was being dispossessedlike this. Could she really have hired someone to kill off her own husband? If she had been involved in an act like that,it was no surprise that she should be considered a malign influence on her children. A woman who plotted her husband’s murderwas surely inadequate as a mother. She might raise them to hate her husband as much as she did herself.

It said much about her, though, if she was prepared to hire a necromancer like him to remove a king, he thought. Then, ashe opened his door to enter, he was shocked from his reflections by the hand at his shoulder.

‘Master? Are you Master Richard of Langatre?’

Stilling his anger, he smiled. ‘Yes, mistress. Can I be of service?’ After all, it wasn’t so often that the sheriff’s wifecame to see him.

Tavistock Abbey

Simon reached the abbey in good time, with at least an hour of daylight remaining. Overall, a pleasing journey, apart from the whiningbehind him. The only cure for that was to ride on a little faster, so that the lad’s legs couldn’t keep up.

‘Are we there now?’ Rob was staring at the great moorstone walls with trepidation, eyes wide like a rabbit watching a hunter.

‘Yes. This is it.’

‘Oh, thank Christ for …’

Simon winced. Rob had been raised in Dartmouth, and his language was designed more for the tavern than an abbey. ‘Try to becareful with your words, Rob. The monks in here expect respect. If you use language like that, you could be thrown into theirgaol and left there for a week. I won’t pay to get you out if you are guilty of embarrassing a monk.’

‘God’s teeth.’

‘That’s enough!’

There was a lay brother at the gate who volunteered to take Rob and the horses to the stable. Simon was happy to pass overthe reins, taking his pair of bags from the saddle before he bade the beast farewell. It was not his own, but one of thoserounseys which the abbey purchased and kept for the use of its workers. When Simon left tomorrow to see his wife, he hopedto be able to borrow another horse and packhorse for the journey. For now, though, there was more urgent business, if Stephenof Chard was to be believed.

Rob was somewhat pathetic, staring at Simon like a boy bidding farewell to his father before going to sea. Simon waved himoff irritably, then turned on his heel and made his way across the main court to a door which had been pointed out to him. A novice opened it for him, beckoning him to enter.

Over the years Simon had come here many times to meet his abbot, but those encounters had always been held in the abbot’sown house overlooking the gardens and the river. Many were the pleasant meals and drinks Simon had enjoyed there while supposedlybriefing the abbot on matters pertaining to troubles on the moors, or more recently the affairs of Dartmouth. However, thelast few meetings they had had were more sombre. It was clear to Simon that the abbot had known he was dying. The death waslong and slow, but the good man endured it with equanimity. He was glad to be leaving the world, Simon was convinced. Abbot Robert had done all he could to serve God and the abbey, and he knew he deserved his final rest.

‘Bailiff. Good. Come in here.’ It was John de Courtenay, the son of Baron Hugh de Courtenay. He was standing in a narrow passage,and he opened a door as Simon approached, motioning him inside. Seeing the novice, he jerked his head. ‘You! Fetch us wine,and be quick!’

The room had clearly been used for some while as a working area. It was not large, but there were two tables set up inside,with a series of rolls of parchment set out on them. A few were weighted flat with stones, and it looked as though John de Courtenay had been studying them. He walked in behind Simon and stared down at the nearest parchment with distaste, beforeremoving some of the stones and allowing the skin to roll itself up again gently as he seated himself on a stool beside it.

Between the tables stood a large brazier half filled with glowing coals. Simon walked to it and held his hands to it whilehe wondered why he had been called here to see the baron’s son. It was only after a short period that he suddenly felt a sinking sensation in his bowels.

There were many in the abbey whom Simon would have been delighted to see take over: the cellarer was a kindly, well-intentionedman; the sacristan was astute, worldly wise and effective; even the salsarius was more than capable — but this man was thevery last whom Simon would wish to see in charge of the place.

John was no fool, it was true, but that only added to Simon’s concern now as he turned and warmed his backside. Once, whilehe was discussing fathers and sons with his friend Sir Baldwin, the knight had observed that it was a general rule that ifa strong-willed man sired a son, the son would be as feckless as his father was brilliant. Not always, of course, but therewere many examples of weakly sons who followed potent parents. At the time, Simon recalled, they had been alluding to theking himself. No man would have thought that so jealous, foolish and incompetent a man could have followed Edward I.

No, he didn’t think that this John de Courtenay was a fool, but that did not make Simon feel any better. When Simon was aboy, his father had been steward to the de Courtenays, and Simon had grown to know John moderately well. Where his fatherwas cautious and aware of the machinations necessary to protect his estates and treasure in the confusing modern world ofpolitics, John was devious to a fault, determined, frivolous, vain and a spendthrift. It was no surprise that Hugh had supportedhis eldest son in his ambition to go into the church rather than take over the vast family estates. God forbid that he shouldever grab the reins of power of the abbey.

‘Where is that wine?’ de Courtenay grumbled. He was a powerfully built man, with a square face and thinning fair hair about his tonsure. That he kept himself moderately fit was entirely due to his passion for hunting, which was not actuallypermitted, although he didn’t allow that to stop him. Recently, though, his belly had started to grow, and Simon noticed thatsince he had last seen him his posture had changed. Whereas before he had always stood dignified and erect, now he was beginningto bend his back to support his growing paunch, and he sat with his neck thrust forward in a vain attempt to conceal the growingpouch of flesh beneath his chin.

Simon waited silently. He was anxious. Whatever had occasioned his recall to Tavistock, he felt sure it would not be to hisbenefit.

At last the novice returned with a thin, old monk who entered, nodded kindly to Simon, and then glowered at his brother. ‘Perhapsyou forget, John, that you should not command the novices to fetch and carry for you? You may do that if you ever win theabbot’s seat, but until then you should leave the boys alone. And if you want wine, come and ask me to provide it for you. Since we are lucky enough to have a guest in our midst, I suppose this once it will be all right.’

‘We have matters to discuss here, Reginald,’ de Courtenay said sharply. ‘You may leave us.’

‘Oho!’ Reginald said, and passed Simon a jug of wine, winking as he did so. He handed a second to de Courtenay, who took itsuspiciously. Then the old monk gave them both goblets, and Simon tasted his wine with pleasure. An excellent vintage, strongand fruity; meanwhile de Courtenay peered into his own goblet with an expression of doubt.

As soon as they were alone again, de Courtenay shook his head. ‘I am sorry about that old fool. The churl has little in his head any more. I am sure the vindictive old brute watered this wine. It’s like piss!’

Simon hurriedly agreed, pulling a face, before de Courtenay could think of taking a taste of his own jug. ‘Why did you askme to come here?’

De Courtenay looked at him for a long period without speaking. Then he set his goblet on the table beside him and leaned forward,his elbows on his knees. Motioning towards another stool, he waited until Simon was seated.

‘Since poor Abbot Robert has gone to a happier place, it will be up to the brothers here to elect a new abbot. There mustbe a vote early in the new year. Now when that happens, naturally I shall be selected. There is no one else who can lead ourlittle community. And yet there are one or two misguided fellows here who might seek to prevent my taking my proper placein the abbey. They could try to put another in my stead, if you can believe it!’

Simon could very easily believe it. ‘That has nothing to do with me, though.’

‘Not directly, no. But I remember you from when we were lads. You always followed your father, and he was a good, loyal servant. How is he?’

‘Dead these last nine years,’ Simon said shortly.

‘Amazing. Still, you’d want to continue in his footsteps, wouldn’t you?’

‘How exactly do you expect me to do that?’ Simon asked warily.

‘There is one brother here who could be a threat to me … the fool Busse. Robert Busse. He is not a serious contender,of course. I mean, I’m the son of a baron, and he?’ He gave a dismissive shrug and wave of his hand. ‘No. No one in theirright mind would vote for him. And yet he’s a crafty old devil. Perhaps he might threaten some, or bribe others. You never can be sure with that devious old … anyway, I wantsomeone to keep an eye on him.’

‘Wait! You are asking me to spy on a brother of yours? I cannot wander about the abbey trailing after this fellow. I am nobrother.’

‘Calm yourself. I merely want you to go with him when he leaves to visit Bishop Stapledon. All it will involve is travellingwith him to protect him on his way, and then ensuring that no danger comes to him — or me — when he reaches the city.’

‘No. Now, if you do not object, I shall leave and visit my wife. I haven’t seen her in some weeks.’

‘Wait one moment, Bailiff.’ John de Courtenay’s voice was as smooth as a moleskin. ‘Before you decide to rush off in a sanguinehumour because I have requested that you help me in this matter, you should be aware of something.’

‘What?’

‘You do not like me, Master Bailiff. I know that. You and I have never been particularly close. Do not protest! Please, weare both sensible men. I am frivolous and enjoy the trivial. Yes. However, I do serve Our Lord, and I am determined to doall I may to succour the souls of the people who live here. Not all monks are like that. I know some who would be happy toleave their paths of service and instead follow the path of knowledge. Some are so determined to learn as much as they maythat they have left the sensible courses of learning and sought out more … curious routes to knowledge.’

Simon stood. ‘I have no part in the election of the next abbot, and want nothing to do with it.’

‘What? Money wouldn’t tempt you?’

‘I shall take my leave,’ Simon said coldly. He had never been open to bribery.

‘Simon, I was only teasing. It is my habit, when I am anxious, to be light about my concerns. Look: sit a moment and listen. Please?’

He waited until Simon was seated once more, and then turned to the parchment on the table baside him. His eyes were floatingover the words, and Simon had the impression that he was reading from it as he spoke.

‘I know some little of Busse. He is a man of lowly birth. Did you know that? I have learned that he was the son of a priest,a man called Master Robert de Yoldeland. That was how he acquired his Christian name. His surname came from his mother, aconcubine of his father’s called Joan Busse. He is not the sort of man we want as abbot here, Simon.’

‘I have always found him to be a fair and sensible man,’ Simon said coldly.

‘Would you say that if you thought that he had made use of a magician? That he was asking someone to use maleficia to help him become abbot?’

Simon shivered. Everyone knew of sorcerers and witches — maleficus and malefica — who could use their evil spells to harm others or cause benefits to accrue. Some would use a witch to win a woman’s love,while others would seek a sorcerer to help enhance their prospects.

‘I see from your expression that you have as much liking for such people as I do, Simon. Aye, well, Busse has been using anecromancer. He has already made enquiry of Master Richard de Langatre. You know of him? He is the chief fortune-teller in Exeter. Busse came here from Lincoln. They say he consulted unclean and malignant spirits while he was there. Do you really think he would make a better abbot than me? Even the most biased fellow must wonderwhether he would be a safe and sensible master of a place such as this … a place constructed to save souls and protectthe people of the area. Simon, you must follow him. I need a man who is responsible, and I can think of no better man thanthe son of my father’s own best and most faithful steward.’