The Malice of Unnatural Death

Chapter Forty-Seven

Monday, Christmas Eve

Exeter City

And as they drank into the long night, Will closed the door on his wife’s petulant complaints, hunched his shoulders against thecold, and set off once more on his nightly route, up the great street from the South Gate, and right along the way to the Palace Gate. He passed down the alley, and when he reached the burned remains of his house he stopped for a long time andstood, staring, at the place where his children had lain.

His body was found the next morning, huddled in a corner of the path, not far from where Mucheton had been murdered. Therewas no sign of pain on his face, and no apparent wound when Coroner Richard had him stripped and rolled over.

‘So what in God’s name was there for him to smile about when he died, then, eh?’ the coroner muttered to himself.

‘Peace, Coroner,’ Baldwin said. ‘Just peace.’

Dartmoor

Maurice found a shelter as he walked down past Scorhill. For a man used to constructing little shelters, it was always easy to find a place. Always look for a fallen tree, look away from the wind, and imagine how someone else would make a refuge. This one was hardly the picture of comfort, and some of the covering had blown away, but it took little time to gather upmore fallen leaves from about the place and replenish the roof of the little shelter, and for one man there was space to spreadout inside.

This was not the direction the sheriff would have expected him to go, and he was moderately certain that he was safe herefor a while if he wanted. After a few days he could leave and make his way to the coast, pick up a ride with a sailor there. There were no fishermen or traders who had much respect for the king. They deprecated his customs and tolls on all their efforts.

Soon he would be able to escape and make his way to France. And once there, he would find Lord Roger Mortimer and join hisforce.

There was nothing left for this country but war and death. And to the victor there would be a great spoil: England.

Maurice broke twigs and gave a hawkish smile. Yes. He would like to be with Mortimer when the lord returned. The rewards wouldbe great.

But his levity was short-lived. The last weeks in Exeter had been sad. To have to say farewell to his sister had wrenchedat his heart — and then there were all the strange events and the murders.

He was glad that the girl had been safe, although it had shocked him to see that the man who went to the hayloft to rescueher had been the same man who had killed the fellow in the undercroft that day. As old Will had lifted the latch on the hayloft, Maurice had grabbed his sword-hilt, ready to go and protect the child, but then he saw how kindly the old fellow had helped her down, and passed her his own old cloak, a dreadful, worn and threadbare one compared with the newer,but bloody one he had discarded in the alley after the killing, and Maurice had felt easier in his mind.

Trailing after the two, he was still bitter that the girl had been left in the loft all night. He’d returned to the placeearly in the morning to make sure that she had been released, and when he saw that the doors were still locked, he’d almostgone to open them and see whether she had escaped, but Will’s appearance had saved him the effort. Typical, he thought, thata priest should leave the poor girl up there all night — but then she was probably warm enough, and safe enough from mostdangers.

There would be more danger to come. He hoped she would be safe … and that his sister too would be safe from the risksof the war which was surely coming now.

He had taken his leave of her two days ago. At the time she had said that her husband was well enough protected because ofhis alliances with the king’s advisors. And it was that which worried him most, because if she depended on Despenser, Mauricewas sure that her husband would be viewed as an enemy by those who would come to seek Despenser’s destruction. Like thesemadmen who proposed to remove him by means of mommets made of wax.

Fools! The only secure way to remove a man like Despenser was with a steel blade in the ribs, not some nonsense with a littlelead or horn pin.

Still, provided he could return here to protect his sister before anything went wrong, the coming war should give him a chanceto renew his fortune.

War could not come soon enough.

Marshalsea, Easter Term in the nineteenth year of the reign of King Edward II¹²

He shivered uncontrollably now. His unkempt beard was alive with creatures that bit and scuttled, making him scratch and rubuntil sores formed. After so long in gaols, he had the prisoner’s contant cough, the bowed back and anxious, fretful expression,knowing that any day could be his last.

When he first came here, he tried to keep a tally of the days by scratching into the stonework of the walls with a rock, butthat had soon failed him when winter arrived and day followed night without light. It was impossible to tell what was happeningoutside, and soon all seemed irrelevant. What was the point of reflecting on the world outside when all that mattered wasin here?

It was four or five years now since Robert le Mareschal had been first arrested. At the time it had seemed to him that hewould probably soon be rewarded, but although he had waited long for the news, nothing had happened. In those days, of course,he had still been away at Coventry. That was when he had stood up in court and made his prosecution.

Perhaps it was foolish to expect many of them to break down and confess, but how was he to know? He was unused to the waysof the king’s courts. All he knew was, he had to stand and make his accusation. That was what Croyser had said, anyway, andthe sheriff had appeared to be on his side. He’d been almost as nervous as Robert as they waited for the jury to arrive. Itseemed that way to Robert, anyway.

And then the men had walked in. All the twenty-five who were still alive. By then, of course, John was long dead. He had diedbefore the Easter term while he was in the sheriff’s custody, the lucky bastard.

There was a rattle of chains further down the corridor of the gaol, and Robert le Mareschal’s ears pricked. No. Nothing more.

Yes, all the twenty-five had stood there, the bastards, and even as Robert declared their crimes, telling how they had offeredhim and his master money, how they’d made the first payments, how they’d brought the wax and the linen to make the figures,and how their money had gone into the murder of de Sowe, they’d shaken their heads like saddened uncles called to witnessthe downfall of a favoured nephew.

So the jury, formed only of local men, had found them all innocent. Not one had been found guilty. Which meant that the manwho had accused them must himself be guilty: Robert.

Never before had he appreciated the irony of an innocent man’s making a true statement of another man’s crime which a jurythen found to be wrong. The sheriff had looked and sounded stern as he read out the verdict in the court of Gaol Delivery,and suddenly Robert understood that the reward for making his truthful statement was this: he should suffer the penalty whichthe men he had accused would have endured had they been found to be guilty. He was to hang.

The chains came closer. He huddled against the wall, too scared to move into the darkness in the corner of the cell.

There was a rattle in the lock, and the door opened. Two men stood outside, the gaoler and the sheriff. ‘Come on, you’re allright,’ Croyser said.

It made him almost fall to the floor with relief, he was so comforted by those few words. ‘Oh … oh … oh, sir …’

‘Get up, man. Come on!’

He allowed them to lift him. The gaoler put a hand under his armpit and hefted him to his feet, and he was walking, climbingstairs, shuffling along corridors, his ossified joints complaining at every step, his muscles, so long unused to effort, almostgiving way.

‘Here.’

The gaoler stopped him heading towards the main exit door, and instead he was taken to another door. There was a noise outside,a feral, thumping, pounding noise, and he couldn’t place it at first.

Then he knew it. He understood. Turning, he would have fled, but the gaoler held a chain from his shackles, and even as hefelt himself soil his clothes as the terror came back, Robert found himself being pulled backwards into the daylight, in frontof the large crowd who stood stamping on the ground in their annoyance at the delay; dragged on his belly to the ladder withthe rope dangling above it.

And his last thought as the life was choked from him was that the look on the sheriff’s face was relief. Because at last hehad removed the last witness to the crime in which he had been a conspirator.

¹ 27 April 1324

² 15 November 1324

³ 19 November 1324

⁴ 20 November 1324

⁵ 21 November 1324

⁶ 22 November 1324

⁷ 23 November 1324

⁸ 24 November 1324

⁹ 25 November 1324

¹⁰ 30 November 1324

¹¹ 5 December 1324

¹² 1326