The Malice of Unnatural Death

Chapter Forty

Exeter City

Ivo was tempted to run through the house and grab some friends to come and capture this man, but courage was never his strongestsuit. Having seen how the man had dispatched Michael, he was reluctant to test his own skills as a fighter against him.

‘What is it?’

‘Didn’t you hear me, fool? He’s gone. And so have the figures, from the look of it.’

‘What figures are you talking about?’

He had approached to the doorway now, and could peer in as the foreigner kicked at tables and benches, overturning them alland hunting high and low for something. The dust was rising, and he chewed at his lip as he went about the room, prising witha knife at some of the stones, seeing if they could be moved, then carefully inspecting the floor as though there could havebeen a trap door hidden there, but soon he stood, breathing heavily and staring about him. A shelf dangled from the ceiling,attached by ropes. He slapped his hand underneath it, sending everything atop flying, and kicked at a small phial lying onthe ground. It flew away and smashed into pieces on the wall.

Only then did he seem to calm a little. Standing staring at the wall, he nodded to himself, and then called to Ivo. ‘Fetch me Richard Langatre. Right away.’

Ivo was nothing loath. He turned and hurried from the barn, through the house, where Michael sat huddled on the floor witha bloody rag tied about his ruined hand, being tended to by a maid, and out into the street with a feeling of distinct relief. Up the road he hurried, and pounded on the sorceror’s door.

Langatre had been sitting before his fire and thinking of the man lying dead beneath him when the banging came on his door,and now he agreed with alacrity to go and help the dead man’s friend.

‘I need you to tell me what this man would have been doing in here.’

Langatre eyed the wild-eyed man uncertainly. Although he was a knowledgeable man, there were limits to what he could achieve,and he was close to the limit right here. ‘I don’t know how much I can tell you, friend. This place is in a mess.’

‘He was doing something in here. What can you see?’

Langatre sighed to himself and entered. There was a table-top on its back, two trestles nearby where they had fallen afterbeing kicked, and all about a mess of broken pots and various tools. Some were no doubt used for maleficium, but in the main they looked like gardening implements. It was only as he tentatively lifted the table-top that he gave alittle gasp.

‘What is it?’

‘My bloody knife, that’s what it is! He must have taken it … this must be the man who broke into my house and tried tokill me!’

‘He was desperate to achieve something with the things he took. What else did he remove?’

‘There were any number of things … mainly tools that a man might use in cleansing his soul before … Hey, that’s myleather hat!’

‘So?’

It was possible. There were plenty of magicians who attempted conjurations, as he had told Sir Baldwin and the coroner theother day while he was in the gaol. Yes, some had tried such things, but the chances of success were minimal, and the dangers…

‘Well?’

Langatre scowled at him. ‘I don’t know what you normally do, man, but my job is to be cautious. Leave me to work it out and I shall give you accurate information. Hurry me and you’ll get something that is less use than horseshit. Is that clear enough?’

Without waiting for the response, he started looking about him carefully. If Sir Baldwin had been right, and the stories weretrue, there may be some wax lying about in here. He searched, but there was nothing to be found. Shaking his head, he roseagain and thought wildly. Then his face lightened and he hurried outside to the vegetable plots. At the side of one was alarge rubbish heap, and he ran to it excitedly, prodding at it until he gave a little whistle of glee.

‘Here you are!’

‘What is it?’

‘Wax — like the stuff in my undercroft. The fellow has made some models of men out of wax, I’d guess. He’s going to try tokill someone.’

Baldwin was still glowering with concentration as he left the inn and began to make his way to the bishop’s palace.

Simon was with him. The coroner had been asked to visit the sheriff at the castle because a woman had reported a rape, orsomething, but Rob walked a few paces behind as usual, truculently glaring at all those about him as he went. At one pointhe was fairly sure that he saw one of the lads from his game the night before, but the face soon disappeared in the crowds,which was some relief.

Their path took them down Cooks’ Row, and thence to Bolehille and down to the Palace Gate, and it was as they entered Bolehillethat Rob saw another face he thought he recognised. Hastily he turned his head slightly, and hoped that the simple subterfugewould serve. Fortunately he could hear the master talking to his friend the knight, and so long as they kept on their musingsabout the dead men and all that, he’d be all right. Yes, there was the Palace Gate. Only a matter of a few hundred yards,now. Easy enough.

As he sighed with relief, he felt his legs pulled from under him. ‘Aargh!’

Hands outstretched to break his fall, he felt stone on his palms, the scrape of flesh rasped away and the instant stingingpain. His knees were bruised, and his breath had been knocked from him.

‘We want our money, foreigner!’ he heard as he started to try to clamber to his feet. A kick at his legs made him fall again.

Then there was a chuckle, and he turned his head to see Simon and Sir Baldwin, both standing with arms crossed, Simon witha broad grin on his face. ‘Been upsetting people again, lad? I’ve warned you about this before.’

‘It was a fair game!’

‘You’re learning new concepts, are you?’ Simon asked unsympathetically.

‘I was doing it for you, master,’ he said hurriedly.

‘What?’

Now he had Simon’s attention, Rob spoke quickly. ‘They told me of a rumour while we played last night — it’s said that thebishop doesn’t trust the sheriff. Thinks the sheriff might be disloyal to the king …’

‘Quiet!’

‘It was this one, sir. He’s called Ben.’

Suddenly both his attackers were running away, swift as only rats or city-bred churls could go, Rob thought to himself.

Simon started as though to chase them, but then he stopped and looked back at Baldwin, then both stared down at Rob.

‘Are you sure of this?’ Simon frowned.

‘Why else would they run like that?’ Rob demanded reasonably.

‘Why should they?’ Baldwin asked. ‘All they need do was deny your story. It is foolish, perhaps, but not an offence to seea lad hanged, telling a tale like that.’

‘They got nervy when I asked them how they knew,’ Rob recalled. ‘It was when I asked whether the bishop had a spy in the sheriff’shouse. They went quiet then.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘I doubt not that the good bishop has an ear in every important house in the city. Yet that is interesting. Yes, Simon, it is enormously interesting! If the good bishop felt that the sheriff was actively plotting something, he wouldhave done all in his power to warn the king, would he not? And what better means than to send a messenger with a private,verbal message?’

‘But what could the sheriff be planning all the way down here?’ Simon said sceptically. ‘The king is many leagues away.’

‘Maleficium is supposed to know no bounds of distance,’ Baldwin mused. ‘I wonder if that is what they planned? To have the king assassinatedfrom insignificant little Exeter?’

Simon was eyeing his servant doubtfully. ‘You are sure of this? How drunk was the lad?’

‘Ben? He was the one with the face like a ferret and the smell of a fox on heat. I don’t think he was drunk last night. Heseemed all right.’

Simon looked at Baldwin. ‘Should we go and ask the bishop?’

‘I do not think so. The news that his affairs are common knowledge may not please the good prelate. No. Perhaps it would bebetter were we to keep this information private for now.’

Simon nodded, although he would have preferred to have asked the bishop about his concerns. Politics were becoming a mess,and Simon was trying still to see a way through. As a mere bailiff to the abbey of Tavistock, he was not involved, thank God,in national politics, but every man had to be aware of the currents of power. If a man were to upset even the lowliest servantof a man like Sir Hugh le Despenser, he could find himself either in a very painful place or dead. ‘Does that mean that thebishop’s loyalty is being tested?’ he wondered aloud.

Baldwin threw a casual look at Rob, and, seeing he was far enough away, drew nearer to Simon. ‘Old friend, do not even wonderaloud about such things. Simply listen and draw your own conclusions. This country is grown too dangerous for musings in public. For now, assume that his lordship the bishop will stay loyal to Despenser and the king, for it is in his interests to remain so. His star has waxedwith the Despenser’s, and Despenser has grown fat on the largesse of the king. Yet there are many who do now question theking’s management, and who detest the overweening arrogance and greed of Despenser. Perhaps this sheriff is one such? I donot know.’

They had reached the Palace Gate, and Baldwin nodded at the porter as they entered the bishop’s precinct again. And I hope I learn to read the signs correctly too, he said to himself.

Exeter Castle

Will was appalled to see how the girl was thrown to the floor. ‘Wait! Don’t hit her! She’s been raped!’

‘Sorry, man, but this little innocent slaughtered another maid from the castle yesterday,’ the coroner said. ‘She’s not assweet as she looks.’

‘I didn’t kill her,’ Jen said. She spat in the direction of Lady Alice. ‘She’s right there!’

‘You killed your own friend, maid!’ Sheriff Matthew stated. ‘You killed Sarra.’

‘Me? I couldn’t have hurt her! She is my best friend.’

‘It was witnessed by many people,’ the coroner said calmly, bending to pick up her knife.

‘She was asleep in my hayloft,’ Will said stupidly. ‘I just thought she’d been attacked and went there to hide.’

‘You did well to bring her here,’ the sheriff said.

There was a note of dismissal in his voice, though, which Will recognised. He nodded sadly, walking to the doorway. Yet hecould not help but turn and give her one last look before leaving. She was so much like the girl his daughter might have grown into, and the thought made him want to weep.

The Bishop’s Palace

‘A good day to you,’ the bishop said as he marched into his main chamber. He peremptorily demanded wine from his waiting steward,and sent him on his way. Rob scuttled after him in a hurry, knowing when it was best to make himself scarce.

‘My lord,’ Simon said hesitantly, ‘you seem a bit vexed this morning. Do you prefer that we leave you for a little, or comeback tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow? Hah! It is all well and good for a bailiff to suggest work on the Sabbath, but for some of us that day is alreadythe busiest in our week. No, Simon, I am not rebuking you — do not look so pained. Tomorrow is the feast day of Saint Catherineof Alexandria, though. I shall officiate at the mass to her honour, although God knows well enough that I could do with aday of rest myself just now. I am too old for all this bickering!’

This last was said with a particular fervour, and Baldwin smiled. ‘You are not enjoying a peaceful time just now?’

‘Just now? Just now, you say? Sir Baldwin, I am hedged in upon all sides. There is the master mason who looks daggers at me because I refusedto agree to order thirty cartloads of marble when he admitted to me that he should only need twenty-three. My labourers areall complaining that there is not enough light for them to work, and, of course, they won’t do a thing when it rains! My… but I can see that you are not very interested in the affairs of a bishop with the rebuilding of his church. At least I have my throne made and ready. It fits me perfectly. And a good thing too.’

Baldwin smiled, but politely did not mention the reason why the Bishop had demanded so extravagant a seat. Some assumed it was onlyto make sure that the bishop went one better than his peers, but in reality it was in order that he should be as comfortableas possible. He was a prey to haemorrhoids.

‘So! You are here to bring me more news? What can you tell me?’

‘Little enough,’ Baldwin said. ‘There was another murder last afternoon, when an innocent man was killed. We assume that hehad surprised the assassin, and had his throat cut for his pains.’

‘Who was this? Anyone of importance?’

‘I do not think so … although his past appears to be rather a mystery,’ Baldwin admitted.

Simon knew that the bishop knew many in the city. ‘His name was Walter, my lord. Walter of Hanlegh. He came here recently,so we understand.’

‘I know of him, yes,’ the bishop said. ‘Hmm. He was a worthy man in the king’s service. I knew him before …’

‘Is it true that he was an assassin?’ Baldwin asked bluntly.

‘Yes. He was one of those who in past times would remove obstacles to maintaining the king’s peace. If a man sought to upsetthe king’s equanimity, this Walter might sometimes be sent to chastise him. And occasionally, I fear, simple words were notenough.’

‘We have spoken to Robinet, who was once a messenger like James, and who appears to hold the same regard for Walter.’

‘Sir Baldwin, do not judge the man entirely by your own code of chivalry. In God’s name, I can swear that there are many dangerous men in the realm who would do the king harm if they but had the opportunity. Walter saved the king, very likely,and possibly that could have impacted on your life too.’

‘He worked down here, then?’ Simon asked.

‘I recall hearing that he was here once at the outset of the famine, and because of his efforts the city was saved from disaster.’

‘I wonder what led him to try to arrest the magician,’ Simon said. ‘A fellow like him should have overwhelmed a poxed oldman like this fellow. Perhaps he was lured into a trap intentionally.’

‘We may never know. Let us only pray that no more men need die and that you soon find the stolen message.’

‘We shall if we may. If God wills it,’ Baldwin said irreverently. ‘Have you had a demand for money?’

‘No. I should have told you if there had been any such thing.’

Baldwin frowned, but it was Simon who voiced his thoughts. ‘In that case, I really wonder whether there has been some sortof error. The pouch was still with the messenger, wasn’t it? Were there other messages in it?’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘This was the only one we know of that was missing.’

‘Was it the only written message you confided to him?’ Simon asked.

‘Yes,’ the bishop said, with a sidelong look at Baldwin.

‘Then if it was so important that it alone was taken from the pouch, I do not understand why someone has not yet asked youfor money to return it. It makes little sense.’

‘It was important — but perhaps the thief did not recognise its value.’

‘Then why take it? Why not cast it away and find another message more interesting to him?’

‘Who can say?’ the bishop said uncomfortably.

Baldwin enjoyed his discomfiture. There were two messages in James’s safekeeping: the one about the trustworthiness of thesheriff, if his guess and Rob’s information were correct, and another that proposed further persecution of the queen. Eitherof them could have caused great pain to others. If he was wrong, the sheriff could have been condemned without the opportunityto defend himself; his suggestion that the queen should be made to suffer still more indignities and humiliation was unchivalrousin the extreme.

Baldwin said, ‘I told you when you first asked me to help that it would be a difficult task. I do not know whether the messagestill exists or has been destroyed, whether it is in the city or has been spirited away … nothing! For me to find it, I shall need a miracle of some sort. But we will stretch every sinew to rescue it if we may.’

The bishop’s wine arrived, and he smiled wearily. ‘I thank you for that at least.’

‘Shall we come here again tomorrow to report what fortune we have enjoyed?’

‘No. Tomorrow you must attend the mass. It will be a beautiful service, and with the work you have undertaken, you need yourday of rest. Perhaps we can meet afterwards to discuss matters of lesser importance?’