City of Fiends

by Michael Jecks

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘You can smile at me, old friend, but I think the merchant knows who committed the murders, and is determined to protect that person, rather than see him hanged.’

  ‘So you think it must have been his son?’

  ‘If I had to lay money, I’d place it on Gregory’s head. The maid in there was reticent about him, but she indicated that there was something evil in his past, too.’

  ‘And at last Henry Paffard has managed a decent, unselfish deed, whether he wanted to or not. Well, well.’ Baldwin stretched his aching body. ‘It is a good theory. I like the idea that Henry would put his name forward in that manner.’

  ‘But you doubt it?’

  Baldwin considered. ‘It is not that I doubt it, it is that I doubt he will ever admit it. Whatever happens, he won’t retract his confession now, unless he knows that his son is safe. And if Gregory did commit the murders, he may yet be found out. So Gregory cannot be safe.’

  ‘Nor can anyone else!’ Simon pointed out. ‘But what if the boy is innocent? If the merchant was mistaken, then he will die and the true felon will walk free. That is an idea that sticks in my throat, Baldwin. And would in his too.’

  ‘What do you wish to do about it, then? The only safe remedy would be…’

  ‘… to find the man actually responsible,’ Simon finished. ‘Henry must help us.’

  He would have continued, but for the sudden arrival of Sir Richard. With a bellow that must surely have been audible from the Precentor’s house, he marched in. ‘Ale, a quart, over here! And bring me a capon and bread. I have a hunger that would be meet on a lion!’

  ‘Sir Richard, I hope you had a good day? Did you find the priest?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘No. But I found a gaggle of murderers. Even caught one for a while.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Aye.’ Sir Richard was looking towards the door as he spoke, and now his face grew sombre. ‘And I found a woman there. They were raping her in turn, with her man’s body beside her. I swear, if I find Sir Charles on the road, I will have his liver for that.’

  ‘Sir Charles?’ Simon repeated.

  ‘Sir Charles of Lancaster, aye,’ Sir Richard said, and then he became aware of the effect of his words upon his friends. ‘What? D’you know the man?’

  Chapter Thirty

  Bishop’s Clyst

  Sir Charles had not enjoyed capture, and now that he was back with his men, he swore he would not allow it to happen again.

  ‘Sir Charles? Are you ready?’ The men were mounting their horses and ponies.

  ‘Yes, Ulric, my friend,’ he said. He did not smile.

  Ulric had little experience of battle, Sir Charles thought, but he’d been making up for it in recent days. On the surface, he was all Sir Charles needed – a right-hand man, who was devoted to him, just as he himself was to Sir Edward of Caernarfon.

  Still, he was fully aware that Ulric’s devotion was equivocal at best. Ulric must know that his future without Sir Charles was likely to be brief and painful, but the fool could decide to throw himself on the mercy of a posse, were he to be caught. That was why the others didn’t trust him – and neither did Sir Charles. Ulric’s continued presence here was based upon one act: his protection of Sir Charles against an assassin. That act, and a certain amount of self-interest, since if Ulric were to make off, he would know that Sir Charles could count on his men to find him and bring him back – and he had already seen how they treated their enemies.

  Besides, Ulric himself had brought news of the Bishop’s movements – so that they could slaughter James Berkeley and all those in his entourage. It was entirely his responsibility that the Bishop was now dead. He would never dare submit himself to the clemency of the Church. Not after ensuring the murder of one of the Church’s chief princes.

  Sir Charles could understand his position. Some years past, Sir Charles had returned to England to beg for a pardon. During his exile he had wandered over Europe, first hoping to join a lord’s host, then thinking he might join the Teutonic Knights with their crusades to colonise the heathen lands to the east, but all had come to naught. Eventually, desperate, he had taken the fearful decision to plead with the King to be permitted to return, and he had found his entreaties successful. His good name had been restored, his life renewed. He had not expected such largesse, and he would be eternally grateful. There was nothing he would not do to serve the man who had given him so much. That was why he was here, that was why he would fight and destroy the Bishop and his lands: because the brother of Berkeley had captured his King and held him in his gaol at Berkeley Castle.

  Bishop Berkeley had paid for that crime, and soon his brother would too.

  However, Sir Charles felt he had come to a crossroads in his campaign.

  His force was reduced. Only two and thirty men-at-arms remained, along with carts and sumpter horses to carry their winnings. They had been lucky: the death of the Bishop had been achieved with ease, and now they were laden with gold and plate from him and the manors they had overrun. All lands controlled by the Bishop of Exeter had been their target, and they had laid waste all the manors east of Exeter; but now that Sir Richard de Welles had found Sir Charles, it was plain that it was time for them to move on. Sir Charles must plan how to contact Ulric’s merchant in Exeter, this man Paffard who was to take all the treasure and exchange it for cash. In the meantime there were other manors, and plenty more to take, both in treasure and in food.

  He raised his hand and waved to signal their advance, and the gentle murmurings of the horses were smothered by the squeak and rumble of the carts. Together, the noises made a deafening cacophony, with the jingle of the chains, the complaints of leather harnesses, the thunder of the wheels rolling over rough ground… These were the sounds of war, to his mind. The proof of men on the move.

  They would ride north and east, away from the city, and head for the little farmstead which he had thought would make a good point of ambush. Now the big knight had discovered him, there was no doubt in his mind that the men of Exeter would soon be after him, and he needed to deter them.

  Within a short period, Sir Charles hoped to have destabilised those who supported the new regime. With God’s grace, they would be forced to surrender before too long. And when that happened, Sir Charles would be granted a new position, perhaps.

  A man who had helped rescue his King from gaol and reinstate him on his rightful throne could anticipate a reward that was fitting for a king-maker.

  Cock Inn

  Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look.

  ‘We have met Sir Charles before,’ Simon said. ‘First on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, and he joined us on our return from Galicia.’

  ‘Is he a friend to you?’ Sir Richard asked directly.

  ‘I would not willingly kill him,’ Simon shrugged. ‘He was a good companion.’

  ‘Well, he’s turned rebel,’ Sir Richard said, and explained about the dead at Clyst St George and all about.

  ‘That is indeed grim news,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘Aye. Tomorrow we will be forming a posse to ride to find him and his men, and then we will force them to fight.’

  ‘We shall ride with you,’ Baldwin said, and Simon nodded. It was a sad task, Simon thought, but if a man like Sir Charles turned to murder and robbery, he would not expect to escape. Especially when one of his victims was the Bishop himself.

  ‘Was he ever evil?’ Sir Richard asked. ‘There are some men whose greed will not allow them to rest, I know – is this Sir Charles built from that mould?’

  Simon shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. He was most certainly ruthless. I saw him fight a number of times, but he tended to be loyal and decent. He did battle against those who were intolerant and cruel, mainly in order to help others. I am surprised if he has returned to cause injustice himself.’

  ‘He was always a strong man,’ Baldwin said, ‘and oftentimes those who are most tested in battle can become inure
d to the pain of others. But if he was leading this gang of men, I fear he has gone too far along the road of arrogance.’

  ‘Aye. Well, he was there and his men were raping the widow while her husband’s body lay beside her, still warm. A terrible scene.’ Sir Richard took a glum sup of ale. ‘So! Come the morning we shall ride again, gentles. It’s only a shame I couldn’t find sight or trace of Father Laurence.’

  Simon said, ‘Ah! We hadn’t told you.’

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘He was innocent, my friend,’ Baldwin explained, ‘Henry Paffard has confessed to the murders, so there is no need to seeks out Father Laurence. His only crime is ecclesiastical, for running away from his job at Exeter.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So you can forget about the good priest.’

  ‘Henry Paffard, eh? Good God, I would never have thought him capable of such deeds. Still, a man can never be certain what his neighbour will do, can he? And I suppose a fellow like him – rich, powerful, used to taking whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it – is similar to a knight like Sir Charles. Once he turned bad, he couldn’t help himself. You take one thing, and next time you want something, you think how easy it was last time, and take it again.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said. ‘He might have found the second life easier to take, possibly. But Simon is less sure. He believes Henry is innocent and is protecting his son by confessing.’

  ‘Oh?’ Sir Richard said, turning his shrewd eyes to Simon. ‘And why do you think that?’

  ‘I won’t go through all that again,’ Simon said with a vague feeling of grumpiness. ‘I know it hardly seems rational, but—’

  ‘On the contrary, it seems extremely rational to me,’ Sir Richard boomed. ‘And if it were true, I would be anxious to see that justice was done. I dislike the idea that the man who is guilty of killing those women should go free and another take his place at the gallows. That would definitely offend me sense of justice.’

  ‘Well, if you can think of a means of persuading Henry Paffard to tell the truth,’ Baldwin told him, ‘I would be happy to help you. But for now, I think we should bring the Precentor up to date with all that we have discovered.’

  Rougemont Castle

  Sir James de Cockington walked back and forth, a mazer of sycamore wood chased with silver in his hand. His steward was with him, and periodically refilled the Sheriff’s cup, but apart from that he was silent. He knew better than to interrupt his master while Sir James was in one of these moods.

  Sir Richard’s report had given him scope for much careful thought. It was a terrible dilemma for any man to confront: to support the attempt of Sir Edward to win back his rightful throne, or to show support for the new, young King Edward III, Sir Edward’s son. It was crucial that he made the correct choice. The wrong one would lead to disaster on all levels; the right one to him retaining his existing position, and possibly enhancing it.

  There was still no news of Sir Edward of Caernarfon since his astonishing escape from Berkeley Castle, and the lack of information was driving Sir James to distraction. He needed to know! If Sir Edward was free, and intended taking up his throne again, Sir James must clearly throw his weight behind him, but if he was simply meandering over the land with little more in his mind than escape to the Low Countries or France, he would surely never be able to return. When his Queen had invaded England the previous year, all she had with her was an honour guard of perhaps a few hundreds of Hainault mercenaries, if what Sir James had heard was true. Yet for all the paucity of men, her ambitions were clear.

  She had set sail for England, and not one naval ship obeyed the King’s command to fight her at sea. When her men reached the coast, of those sent to prevent her landing, all turned to her side. Her forces grew daily, and she led them across the country, giving thanks at churches, spreading coin like water amongst those who gave her their adulation; none would stand in her path, other than those who wanted to join her. It was a glorious, bloodless invasion, and had ended in the capture of her husband as he rode from one castle to another in the wild lands of Wales.

  If Sir Edward were to declare himself King again, how would others in the realm respond? Sir James considered the nobles who ranked in his immediate vicinity. He had no doubt that Lord Hugh de Courtenay would remain four-square behind the Queen; he was still bitter about his treatment by Edward, seeing his estates eroded as the King sought to reward others at his expense.

  The same must be true for those who remained up on the Welsh Marches. There were enough there who had seen their lands and titles stolen in order to advance friends of the King. Few would forget how Despenser, Edward’s beloved favourite, was allowed ever more licence to threaten, bully and rob them of ancient customs. Likewise the Scottish Marches. There the great barons would not wish to see Sir Edward return. He had caused them nothing but sorrow, with his incompetent handling of the Scottish wars.

  But in the middle of the kingdom it was harder to predict how the lords and barons might respond. There were many who disliked the old King, but were not yet persuaded by the new regime. Queen Isabella was adored, but her choice of Sir Roger Mortimer as her adviser and, most believed, lover, had set a lot of men’s noses out of joint. They believed that she should have remained chaste. Selecting an avaricious bastard like Mortimer as her lover had injured her position, for she was still married to the King. Adultery was a crime for an ordinary mortal, but for a Queen there was an especial significance. A Queen who took another man to her bed was worse than others, for she could pollute the blood-line of the King.

  How would they respond? He considered the lower nobles, the knights and squires of the country, and pondered afresh at the thought of the numbers of men required to free the King from his prisons. First there had been an attack on Kenilworth Castle, one of the strongest fortresses in the realm, and then an assault on Berkeley. Both involved significant forces. There were plenty of men who thought that if they helped the King return to his throne, they would be rewarded.

  And now there was this new group wandering the countryside, if that gross deofol Sir Richard de Welles was to be believed. Didn’t bear thinking of. Led by Sir Charles of Lancaster, they had already killed Bishop James, apparently, and now were spreading misery wherever they went, all over all those lands associated with Bishop James. Ravaging an enemy’s territory was normal enough, but to do so to a Bishop was unusual, to say the least.

  Sir James set his jaw. It was impossible to make a decision. He could not commit himself until he knew how the wind was blowing.

  But he might be forced to, if the posse left in the morning.

  Precentor’s House

  It was growing late when Simon and Baldwin walked with Sir Richard up to the Palace Gate, and thence up to the Precentor’s house.

  Adam Murimuth received them in his hall with cordiality, but he was drawn and exhausted, and Baldwin thought he looked as though he really needed to go back to his bed and lie there for a week to recover from the strain of the last days.

  ‘I am well, I thank you,’ he responded when asked. ‘I am busy with the management of the Cathedral’s resources.’

  ‘One problem must be the outlying manors,’ Baldwin said.

  Adam nodded and rubbed his eyes. ‘It is a matter to which I have given some thought. There is so much to be done at this time of year.’

  ‘Have you heard of the outlaws laying waste to the Bishop’s manors?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Sorry?’ Adam asked, peering vaguely at him. ‘What outlaws?’

  Sir Richard cleared his throat and began telling him about his capture of the leader and then the man’s escape.

  Adam sat back, his face blanched. ‘This is dreadful! Thirty of them, you say? Where did they come from?’

  ‘The men who supported the King and released him from gaol were from the middle of the kingdom,’ Sir Richard told him. ‘I would assume that these fellows came from there too.’

  Adam listened with a frown of concentratio
n as they spoke of the Dunheved brothers and others who had been involved in the Berkeley attack. ‘Any men you need, or horses and weapons, you must let me know,’ he said. ‘I will happily assist you in all ways.’

  ‘There is some good news,’ Baldwin said after they had discussed the force they would need. ‘You can at least set your heart at rest over Father Laurence. Henry Paffard has confessed to the murder of the two women over at Combe Street.’

  ‘Paffard?’ Adam said, shocked. ‘Why on earth would he do that? He is a respected man, in Christ’s name! He has everything most men could want.’

  Baldwin looked at him and shrugged. ‘Some men will try to take more, no matter what they already have. Perhaps this man is formed from that mould.’

  It was possible, but it made no sense. Adam could not help but think of Paffard’s wife and family. The relatives of self-confessed killers never had a good time of it. Often they were reviled by others, sometimes even attacked in the street. He hoped the Paffard family would be safe.

  He would send someone to speak with them. That would be best.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Paffards’ House

  Claricia hugged her arms about her as she sat rocking near the fireside. Gregory was somewhere in the house – perhaps at the workshop with Benjamin the apprentice. He appeared to have taken a new interest in the business now that his father was in prison. It was a pity the boy had never shown such a fascination before. Things might have turned out differently if he had.