City of Fiends

by Michael Jecks

  Then another thought struck him.

  What if Henry Paffard were to disassociate himself from Sir Charles? What then could Ulric do?

  Exeter Cathedral

  Adam Murimuth stood in the Cathedral Close, his head bent, praying for his dead Bishop.

  He had a terrible feeling of loss. It was as if he had not yet come to realise that the death of Bishop James was genuine, as if there could be a vague hope still that he would return to surprise the congregation, that wry smile on his face that showed he had enjoyed the joke.

  Not now. The procession that had made its way to the Guild Hall was utterly convincing. The grief of the people of the city was unfeigned, and the Sheriff himself had come to pay his respects, along with all the prominent men of the Freedom. All stood solemnly as the cart bearing the body stopped, and the people could see the sad, grey face of the man who had been their spiritual leader for such a cruelly short time.

  ‘Only three months,’ Adam murmured.

  The man had been so good a Christian, and Adam had enjoyed working with him. To lose him so swiftly was terribly sad, but at least he was in God’s care now.

  Adam had gone to meet the body at the Guild Hall, and soon he and the procession were making their way along the High Street, past suddenly silent men and women, and thence into Broad Gate, and from there, down to the West Door of the Cathedral.

  Then, while the Bishop’s body was lifted and carried solemnly into the Cathedral Church, Adam spied the Bishop’s steward, and went over to his side.

  ‘This is a terrible business, Arthur. Was it sudden?’

  The old steward turned eyes bleary with misery to him. ‘Sudden? Yes. They appeared from nowhere.’

  Adam blinked. ‘What do you mean? Who did?’

  ‘The force that attacked us. I still don’t know who they were, even.’

  In his shock, Adam’s mouth moved without speaking for fully ten beats of his heart. ‘I don’t understand, Arthur. What do you mean? I thought he had an accident, or a brain fever.’

  ‘No. We were attacked. The men who killed him ambushed us as we arrived at the gates to Petreshayes. There were thirty or more of them, and they were in among us, slashing and hacking – and when they rode off, my Lord Bishop James was dead on the ground, along with two Brothers and his squire, while they went on to plunder the manor. We cleaned him as well as we might, once they were gone, but that was that.’

  ‘Who would do such a thing?’ Adam breathed. It was incomprehensible, but his shock was already giving way to anger. ‘Who would dare do such a thing?’

  ‘Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing. They cut all the way through us until they reached him, and when he was dead, they just took everything they could, and rode off. It was awful, Adam, awful. My poor master!’ And the steward burst into tears, wiping them from his cheeks with a bitter grief.

  Avices’ House

  Helewisia invited Emma in as soon as she saw the state her neighbour was in.

  ‘Come, take a seat,’ she said calmly, motioning to her servant to fetch some strong wine. Weaker stuff would not do, she guessed.

  ‘You heard the screaming?’

  ‘Of course I did. It must have been most unsettling for you.’

  ‘Oh, Helewisia, it wasn’t that. I just couldn’t believe the look on her face. It was all twisted, you know? I was sure she was mad. I thought she might pull out a knife and kill me there. It was horrible.’

  ‘She is losing everything, Emma, all because you told Henry about her bad mood the other day. What did you expect from her?’

  ‘I know. I wish now I hadn’t. But I couldn’t not tell him. It upset Sabina so much.’

  ‘Well, soon they’ll be gone, I suppose,’ Helewisia said, taking the cups from her maid.

  ‘I just hope I did the right thing,’ Emma said, staring into the cup. She took a sip. ‘I do feel bad about her and her boys.’

  Helewisia said nothing. She was thinking that it was good to regret injustice, but better to avoid it in the beginning. And besides, she had more in common, she knew, with Juliana than with Emma. She herself had wanted to collapse after her lovely son, Piers, had died. Trying to get them food because they were so hard up for money, he had climbed the church spire to catch roosting pigeons. One slip, and he was gone forever.

  Father Paul had tried to comfort her by telling her he was alive in heaven, and that he would be there waiting when she died too. He was trying to be kind to her, reminding her of the miraculous salvation granted to those who died in innocence, but his words gave no succour. In fact, they made her furious, because why should God have taken her little boy from her? Piers was hers, he was here for her to love and cherish and watch grow, and when she was older, he would look after her, and she would love him all her days. But God had taken him from her, leaving her nothing.

  Of course she had become accustomed to the tragedy, as all mothers must. She had striven for another boy with her husband Roger, and the two had mechanically tried every month, but it was as though little Piers had dried her womb when he had been born. There was no joy in their lovemaking, and no success. After two years she had desisted. Occasionally when Roger had been out with his friends and returned drunk, she would allow him to use her body, as the marriage vow insisted, but she found no pleasure in it. She would avert her head and try to think of other things.

  But life returned to its usual tenor. She had a daughter to raise, even if her darling boy was gone. Katherine was a good girl, by and large, and Roger had his successes in business, so they were comfortable. But their lives had for those few years known such happiness that all their days remaining were a reminder of how good things once had been.

  ‘I feel so bad now. Juliana’s mind nearly broke, Helewisia.’

  Helewisia said nothing. Emma wanted her sympathy for her own cruelty to their neighbour, and Helewisia could not give it. Her sympathy had all been used up years before.

  Precentor’s House

  Adam Murimuth had aged ten years in the past few hours, Baldwin thought as he walked into the Precentor’s hall. His usually cheerful face was haggard, his mien sombre.

  It was normally a cosy room, this. A bright fire was always lighted in the hearth, and the windows allowed plenty of light to fall inside. But today it was a cheerless place, without fire or candles to bring relief.

  Simon was sitting near the Precentor’s table. ‘You’ve heard?’ he asked.

  ‘The Bishop’s body is brought back, I hear,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘It is terrible news,’ Adam said. ‘We had thought it was a sad accident, or perhaps a sudden malady – it had never occurred to us that it could be simple murder!’

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ Baldwin said. He stood before Adam while Sir Richard sat down beside Simon, and Edgar took his post near the door.

  Adam sighed. ‘It would seem a party of men attacked him at the gates to Petreshayes,’ he began, and told all he had learned from Arthur. Finishing, he looked about him mournfully. ‘I do not know how any man could attack the good Bishop in so violent a manner. It is incomprehensible.’

  ‘I fear it may be all too comprehensible,’ Baldwin said. ‘Our good Bishop was James of Berkeley, was he not? Therein lies your answer. For the last months, Sir Edward of Caernarfon has been held at Berkeley Castle, under the guard of Lord Thomas of Berkeley. Many in the kingdom still support Sir Edward. Someone has chosen to ride to the Lord’s brother, who was less well-guarded, and slay him in revenge for Sir Edward’s incarceration.’

  ‘But surely no one would kill a Bishop because of his brother’s actions?’ Adam said plaintively.

  There was no need to answer. All knew that the kingdom was bubbling like poison on a fire. The new King was too young to rule, and must submit to his council of regents; his mother remained a dangerous, wild creature who sought power for herself; and her lover, Sir Roger Mortimer, controlled more men than any other, many of them Hainault mercenaries who were loyal only to him. At suc
h a time it was no surprise that some supporters of the old King might take revenge for the imprisonment of their leader.

  ‘To think that he was cut down while trying to visit the religious houses in his demesne as a good Bishop should,’ Adam grieved. ‘He was innocent of any crime.’

  ‘Many are, who have died in these troubled times,’ Baldwin agreed.

  ‘You must go and seek these murderers,’ Adam said suddenly.

  Baldwin smiled a little. ‘Me? Go to Petreshayes? And what should I achieve there?’

  ‘You could find them, bring them here to justice. See them punished for their abominable crime.’

  ‘I am sorry, Precentor, but I am afraid that the felons who committed this evil deed will be long gone from Petreshayes. It would be a similar group to those who attacked Berkeley Castle and freed Sir Edward of Caernarfon. They too are flown, as well as all their retainers. I must remain here, in Devon, to see whether it is possible to find Sir Edward, if I am so commanded.’

  ‘You have a duty to your Church!’ Adam countered passionately.

  ‘No,’ Baldwin said flatly, ‘I hold a warrant from the King, and I am duty bound to obey my orders from him. And while I would help if I may, the Bishop died far away from here. It is up to the local officials to investigate and pursue these felons. Precentor, I am truly sorry. I can do little to assist you.’

  Adam was not content, but he could see there were no words – that would tempt Sir Baldwin to undertake this mission.

  ‘I shall have to do what I may, then,’ he said at last.

  ‘There is much to do when a lord dies,’ Sir Richard said.

  ‘All the servants must be warned or let free. Many will never find work again. I trust the Bishop had made his will,’ Adam said, his mind racing. ‘There are the peasants on all his estates, and others who will want to pay their respects.’

  ‘Aye. Since he was murderously slain, there could be even more comin’ to see him,’ Sir Richard said. ‘You should buy a new strongbox.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s the way of things. If a good man like Bishop James is to die before his time, then many will think him worth commemorating – like a martyr, I mean. You could find the place swarming with the godly before long. You’ll need a new chest to store all their gifts.’

  ‘Pilgrims? To Bishop James’s tomb?’ Adam said. ‘No, surely not. What nonsense that would be.’

  But there was a pensive look in his eye as Baldwin and the others left.

  Chapter Twenty

  Paffards’ House

  Claricia was startled as the door opened, but it was only Gregory with Agatha. The two had taken to walking about the house together, and Claricia thought it was good to see them getting on so well. They were very close.

  ‘Mother, are you all right?’ Agatha asked.

  ‘Yes, of course I am. What a silly question!’

  ‘You looked so anxious just then.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all,’ she said with a firmness she didn’t feel. It was impossible to share her concerns with her children. She could never confide in them. Not ever. ‘Where is Thomas?’

  ‘You know what he’s like these days,’ Gregory said shortly. ‘Probably skulking in his room.’

  Claricia felt her brow furrow. The little boy was so unhappy now.

  It had started pretty much the day that Alice had died, and he had remained in the depths of misery ever since. Alice had been his favourite among the servants because she always played with him, no matter what. It was easy for them both. Thomas could take time from his tutor when he wanted, and Alice could play because she knew full well that no one would dare tell her off. Not while Henry was sharing her bed. ‘You should try to talk to him,’ she said. ‘He needs someone to take an interest in him.’

  ‘Like Father’s next wench?’ Agatha said cynically. She walked into the hall and perched on the table. ‘We all know what Father’s doing, Mother. We heard him last night going to Joan’s room. I’ll bet she never thought that when Alice was gone, she’d have to take over Alice’s extra duties, did she? Poor chit, there she was, probably jealous of Alice’s easy chores during the day, and all the time not realising that she’d be called upon to perform herself, were Alice to disappear.’

  ‘You mustn’t talk like that about your father!’ Claricia said, scandalised.

  ‘Why ever not, Mother?’ Gregory was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, eyeing his fingernails. He put a finger in his mouth, running the nail over a tooth to clean it. ‘Hmm? We all know that our blessed father is fornicating with the maids. He exercises his droit de seigneur as he wishes. And there is nothing you or we can do to stop him, but that doesn’t mean we have to pretend it doesn’t happen. Did you hear Joan weeping late last night? We did.’

  ‘You should tell him he must stop, Mother,’ Agatha said angrily. ‘You cannot let him keep insulting you in this way. It’s demeaning to us as well as you.’

  ‘What can I do? This is his house. I am his, you are his. We have no rights.’

  ‘What of Joan?’ Agatha demanded.

  ‘She can leave if she wishes. But while she remains within the house, she is under the patronage of your father. He can treat her as he sees fit.’

  ‘He doesn’t have the right to rape her, Mother. Not under the law. If he were denounced to the Church, he would be—’

  ‘Don’t even think of such a thing!’ Claricia said. She closed her eyes in terror.

  The first time she had raised the subject with Henry was also the last time. He had been drunk, and it had been days before she could walk without pain.

  Continuing, her voice scarcely more than a whisper, she said, ‘You know how he treats me when I displease him. If you were to speak to the priest, he would blame me and beat me again. Please, don’t do anything that could tempt him to do that again.’

  ‘Mother, I don’t want to, but nor do I wish to see you suffering like this,’ Agatha said. She was a resolute young woman, and there was a light in her eye that Claricia recognised: determination.

  ‘For God’s sake, Agatha, don’t antagonise him,’ she pleaded.

  ‘He destroys all he touches,’ Gregory said. He eyed her dispassionately. ‘How many other people do you want him to hurt?’

  ‘He is your father. You must not disgrace the family.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’ Gregory suddenly burst out, and to her shock, there were tears in his eyes. He was always quite emotional, but this was somehow more alarming than his usual little tirades.

  He stood stock-still for a moment, his entire being focused on her, and then he seemed to sag, and he turned away from her.

  ‘This is what he’s doing to us, Mother,’ Agatha hissed. She walked to Gregory’s side, put her arm about his neck, pulling his head to her shoulder. ‘This is what he’s doing: he’s destroying us all with his moods and his despotism. This isn’t normal. He isn’t normal. One day, if we aren’t careful, he’ll kill us. And I don’t want to die like that.’

  Marsilles’ House

  William looked up as his mother came in. ‘Well? Did you get yourself thrown from his door?’

  ‘William, don’t be so silly.’

  She had a fretful look in her eyes, and William tried to sound reassuring. ‘Don’t worry, Mother. We will find somewhere else to live. It won’t be impossible. We must pack and—’

  ‘No. We don’t pack. We aren’t leaving here.’

  ‘But John said—’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Henry. He will see me tonight. Until then, he won’t evict us – and he won’t afterwards, either.’

  ‘Why? What do you mean?’.

  ‘I have secret information that will make him want to keep us here,’ she said. And although she was worried, she was convincing.

  ‘What do you know?’

  ‘Something about his boy. His son. And he won’t want it bruited about the city,’ she said grimly.

  Precentor’s House


  Simon was glad to leave the atmosphere of the house. Coming out, he saw that the Close was already filling with men and women from the city.

  ‘It’s started, then,’ he commented.

  ‘Eh?’ Sir Richard eyed the crowds with mild interest.

  ‘All these people are here to view the Bishop’s body. The clergy will have to get it ready as soon as possible,’ Simon said. Some would be coming to pay their respects, some so they could say that they had seen his body, while others were coming out of simple loyalty to their lord. James of Berkeley had been a kindly, popular Bishop in the short time he had been here at Exeter. People appeared to have developed a genuine affection for him that was unusual for a man in such a remote position.

  ‘Look at them all,’ Simon said. ‘They’re queuing all the way to the Broad Gate, and with that lot up there, you can bet St Petrock’s will be impassable too.’

  ‘Let us go out by the Bear Gate,’ Baldwin suggested.

  There was a rumble as Sir Richard cleared his throat. ‘I would think the Palace Gate would be well enough for us. And we could call in at the Cock on the way for an ale.’

  Baldwin winced, and the sight brought a smirk to Simon’s face. He had often been forced to accompany Sir Richard on his forays into alehouses and taverns, and Baldwin had routinely found Simon’s suffering the following mornings to be hilarious. It was, Simon felt, a joy and a justice to see that Baldwin himself was at last paying the price of Sir Richard’s friendship.

  ‘Yes!’ Simon said. ‘Let’s go and see the inn. I have a happy memory of the place.’

  ‘Should we not go to your daughter’s to let her know what is happening here?’ Baldwin said hopefully.

  ‘Ah, if you wish you may send Edgar to let her know,’ Simon said with a mischievous grin. ‘After all, we ought to speak to others at the inn to see if they too heard anything on Saturday night, or if they have any more information about the girl who died.’