Henry fixed his son with a furious stare. ‘You speak of things you have no understanding about, Gregory! A man and a woman, they should have feelings for each other. They should enjoy their lust. It’s natural – normal! But men? No. It’s against every law of nature and—’
‘Men?’ Gregory blurted.
‘I know about you and Father Laurence.’
Gregory could think of nothing to say, other than, ‘Laurence is a priest.’
‘He’s an unnatural and depraved bitch-son to tempt you. Has he… Have you…’
‘We have done nothing. And will do nothing,’ Gregory added flatly. The heat was, gone, and now he felt as cold as if the chamber was made of ice. His head was swimming.
‘You swear this?’
Gregory turned away. For a space all that he could hear was his own heart. He had to think quickly. ‘I swear it,’ he said. ‘I saw him today and he said we must not meet again. I agreed with him.’
‘Then at least the sodomite shows some sense,’ Henry said. His voice was cool again, his mind already on other matters. ‘Now, Gregory, you will have to take over the business, at least for now. And you will need to find me a pleader to argue my case in front of the Sheriff, and—’
‘He’s dead. We have no Sheriff.’
‘Christ’s soul! Are you serious?’
‘Sir Charles killed him.’
‘This could be disastrous for me. I can’t stay in here! I have to get out!’
‘All the men who could fill his place are in the north with the King,’ Gregory said soothingly. ‘There will be no court for some time.’
‘Hell’s ballocks! I’m not rotting in here while they play with fighting in the north! Find me a pleader, Gregory,’ Henry said. ‘And not some prick-for-brains like the arse in the Guild Hall! I want my freedom back. I cannot stay while they wait for news of a replacement Sheriff.’
‘I will do what I can,’ Gregory promised.
Henry looked at him, and in his face there was some of the old fire again. He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I am here because I thought I was protecting you. And you tell me you are innocent of the murders. In that case, who did kill those women?’
‘I had thought it was you, Father,’ Gregory admitted. ‘I didn’t hurt either of them. I promise, if I can find the real killer, I will prove you were innocent and have you released.’
‘Perhaps,’ Henry said, but there was a cynical smile on his face. ‘Except you forget that I have actually confessed. I was fortunate that I wasn’t dragged to the Heavitree gallows that same day. Trying to win my release will not be easy.’
‘I’ll tell them that—’
‘That I lied to protect my son? Because I thought you were a murderer, or a sodomite?’ Henry asked sarcastically. ‘Since both offences will have you hanged, I should be cautious before I used such an argument in public, Gregory.’
Gregory embraced his father and then withdrew from the gaol. Outside, he bent over and threw up, the sour taste of the pints of ale revolting. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, feeling hot and shivery, but cleansed.
Despite all his problems, at least he was free. His father, on the other hand, might well die soon.
Chapter Forty-one
High Street
After leaving Master Chepman’s house, Baldwin and Simon were about to head up towards Carfoix when Sir Richard crossed the road and called to them to follow him. He dived down a little alley near St Petrock’s Church. Halfway down there was a little door, upon which he knocked; when it opened, he plunged inside.
Simon exchanged a glance with Baldwin before following him down a flight of stairs to an undercroft. To their surprise, they found themselves in a large chamber, once used as a storage room, with a bar set out and benches placed all around the walls. A heavy-set landlord with a square, scarred face stood at the row of barrels wiping his hands on his shirt.
‘My host, a trio of your best ales,’ Sir Richard called from the entrance, and strode over to a pair of benches.
The landlord, grumbling to himself, obeyed the knight as Simon and Baldwin sat opposite him.
‘Ah, this is a good tavern. I was here once and a man who was visiting saw another fellow who looked just like himself, except he came from Bordeaux. Could have been brothers, apart from that. Anyway, this foreigner frowned at the local, and said, “Tell me, fellow, did your mother ever travel to Bordeaux? You look so much like me”. And the Devon man looked back and said, “No, but my father often did”. Eh? You see? Hah!’
Baldwin smiled thinly. Sir Richard’s sense of humour had clearly returned. The big knight leaned forward, elbows on his massive knees. ‘Well? I would think that Henry Paffard deserves all he gets if he remains in gaol.’
‘He is one of the most deserving fellows for a prison I could have thought of,’ Baldwin agreed.
‘Even in a city like this, there can be few men who would take advantage of his wards to the extent he has. He has robbed them of everything,’ Simon grunted.
Sir Richard leaned back and surveyed the other two. ‘So, are ye saying we should allow him to die on the rope, then, even though he is innocent of the murders, because he’s done things in his time that make him fully deserving of the rope?’
‘No,’ Simon said firmly. ‘I don’t think so. I wouldn’t mind his execution because I don’t like him, but it isn’t my place to make a judgement.’
‘No, and I’m glad it’s not mine either,’ Sir Richard said firmly. ‘But I am more exercised by the other aspect of this whole sorry affair, which is, that if Paffard is innocent, we still have to find the actual murderer.’
‘It is of no matter to me what happens to Henry Paffard,’ Baldwin said. ‘All we have heard shows him to be a ruthless cheat, an adulterer, a bully, and a thief. But I will find the killer of those women, no matter what. If it was him, so much the better. But if another, I will do all in my power to capture him instead.’
‘Then we need to return, I think, to the places where the women died and see if there is something we missed,’ Sir Richard said. He looked up as the landlord approached with three jugs and cups. ‘Thank you, host. Your ale is always a delight to a poor fellow with a raging thirst.’
Simon took a cautious swig of the ale. It was strong, sweet, and very easy to drink, he found.
Baldwin took a sip and coughed behind his hand. ‘Dear God in heaven, that’s potent!’
‘Hmm?’ Sir Richard took a deep quaff and smacked his lips. ‘Ah, as good as I recall from my last visit. Host, you keep a good barrel in your hostelry.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘So, gentles, how shall we go about this?’
Baldwin looked at Sir Richard’s round, honest face, and considered. ‘As you say, we must return to that location. It is clear that the murderer was someone local. But why commit two murders within a few yards of each other? It makes little sense. And a motive is entirely lacking. The maid, Alice, was not disliked by any that we have heard.’
‘Except,’ Simon ventured, ‘Claricia Paffard must have felt some resentment towards the woman who had ensnared her husband, mustn’t she? It is one thing for a man to take a wench in a tavern, but inside his own house? How very humiliating for her.’
‘She was very quiet.’ Baldwin recalled again the time when his wife Jeanne had been similarly silent after his infidelity. The hurt he had inflicted had caused her to withdraw for some time.
Sir Richard grunted agreement and stretched his legs, draining his jug and holding it up for the landlord. ‘How would your wife respond, Simon?’
‘She would be driven to hurling plates and cups at my head, I think,’ Simon grinned.
‘But Claricia seemed to have been ground down by her husband,’ Baldwin said. ‘Her manner was that of a woman driven to extreme despair. Would you agree, Simon?’
‘I suppose so. She was certainly all but silent whenever I saw her,’ Simon nodded. ‘And always in the background.’
‘And if she
had developed an extreme hatred for the maid who was the cause of her humiliation, she might just take it into her head to murder her,’ Baldwin said. ‘Alice was stabbed in the breasts – perhaps as a comment on her sexual incontinence? If Mistress Paffard wished revenge on her rival, that might be a way to resolve it.’
‘What of the second woman?’ Sir Richard asked.
‘She was mutilated too, was she not?’ Baldwin said. ‘She had both lips cut away as though to stop her talking, but she was also stabbed in the eyes.’
‘Perhaps Madame Paffard heard that the woman was gossiping about Alice and Henry, and she felt so ashamed and embarrassed that she killed Juliana in a manner designed to put others off from talking of the affair.’
‘There is the one problem,’ Simon reminded them. ‘The priest. Father Paul saw Henry Paffard return wearing that cloak just as the alarm was given about Juliana’s death.’
‘Aye,’ Sir Richard agreed sombrely. ‘That is an indication that Henry Paffard was the guilty one.’
‘No,’ Baldwin said thoughtfully. ‘It only means that he returned to the house after the murder. We don’t know exactly how long after, nor do we know who else could have been out at a similar time. Anyone could have donned his cloak. But surely it was a man who attacked the priest. Even a priest would be able to tell the difference between a man and a woman, surely?’
Simon nodded. ‘So, I suppose we should return to the street now and ask him. Only Father Paul can help us there.’
‘Very well.’ Baldwin sighed, closed his eyes and finished his cup.
‘You wish for no more to do with the matter?’ Simon queried as they rose and left the tavern.
‘I wish only to return to my home and to see my family,’ Baldwin said truthfully. ‘We have been forced to travel too much over the last years. For my part, all I wish for now is a peaceful time in my home. I would even surrender my position as Keeper. I no longer need such onerous duties.’
He looked up at the sun, and felt the heat on his face. It felt good, and he thought again of his wife Jeanne, her brilliant red-gold tresses, her beauty, and he felt only a sad certainty that no matter what he wished, his life would never be a quiet one.
Paffards’ House
Back in his buttery, John the bottler set the rusted piece of metal on the bench, looking behind him into the passageway to make sure that no one was watching him. Then he carefully reached into the fold of his tunic where he had hidden the dagger.
The blade was smeared and clotted with dried blood, and he eyed it with distaste. He must clean it back to the dull steel and then get rid of it. He couldn’t keep it about him. Ever since that damned Keeper had described it in such fine detail at the first inquest, he had known he must dispose of it. How it had come free, he didn’t know. He had carefully pressed it beneath the shed’s floor, safe with the other secrets there, in the certainty that no one would ever find it again. But here it was. Perhaps young Master Thomas had been playing there again. John had done all he could to dissuade the lad from going near the shed, but he was a boy, and boys tended always to go where they were not permitted. The little brute could have pried a board loose and tried to worm his way inside, even after all the warnings. Then, when he cut himself, the movement of his legs had brought the dagger out to the open, where John had found it. Or maybe it was only the action of rats pulling it out.
It was fortunate that he had discovered that rusted cooperage nearby to explain the injury.
John replaced the blade in his tunic and considered. There was one good aspect, of course. If the boy had been trying that, he had at least probably convinced himself that he should not play there again. And that was all to the good.
All the same, he would take a hammer and some new wood to where those lower planks had rotted. He didn’t want any more incidents like this.
Exeter Gaol
Sir Charles and Ulric arrived at the gaol after purchasing some bread and cheese and eating it on their way. It was as they were passing down the next street, Sir Charles following Ulric, who knew this city better than he, that he caught sight of a face he recognised in the throng ahead. He bent his head, so that his hood would better shield his features, and broke up a piece of bread, stuffing some into his mouth, like a famished peasant with a late lunch. He was turned away as Sir Baldwin and the other two passed by, his hands at his mouth with the bread in them, and while he watched carefully, there was no sign of their having noticed him. They were too involved in their own discussion.
Still, it had been a close-run thing, and he felt his heart pounding as he swallowed his bread and followed Ulric.
The gaol was beneath a grubby little cell with a studded door, set into the wall beside the East Gate. Often a gaoler would allow a prisoner to meet with friends, for a slight consideration. Sir Charles had but few coins in his purse and what he did have, he didn’t want to share.
He walked up the road towards the castle, and found some gravel in the interstices between the rocks of the wall.
Ulric waited outside. When Sir Charles knocked at the door, there was a surly grunt from the gaoler, who appeared to have been snoozing. ‘What is it?’ he yawned.
‘I want to speak with the prisoner.’
‘Oh?’ He looked Sir Charles up and down, his eyes lingering on the swollen purse at Sir Charles’s belt. ‘Why should I let you see him?’
‘Because I will make it worth your while,’ Sir Charles said. ‘Shall we go inside?’
The man hesitated, then saw Sir Charles weighing the purse in his hand. It appeared to give him an incentive, and he opened the door to a small chamber that had a trap-door in the floor.
‘He is down there?’ Sir Charles asked.
‘Aye.’ The gaoler was eyeing his purse. ‘A penny to see him.’
‘A penny?’
There was a belch and a nod from the man, and Sir Charles made a show of unwillingly untying the thong that held his purse to his belt. ‘Well, open it up, then,’ he muttered.
The gaoler turned and fumbled with the bolts, soon having them open. He lifted the trap, just as Sir Charles swung his purse. The stones and coins hit the man’s head with a dull, wet crack, and he pitched forward into the prison. His neck broke with a dry crack as he hit the stone floor.
‘Who is that?’
‘I am Sir Charles of Lancaster. I’m here because you have made a real hash of things, haven’t you?’ he said amiably as he began to climb down the ladder. ‘We need to talk, Henry.’
Chapter Forty-two
Combe Street
As he walked home, slightly unsteadily, Gregory Paffard was filled with a new purpose. Not only was he now the effective master of the house, he was also the only man who could save his father.
But Henry had been right when he pointed out that Gregory could scarcely claim that his father had confessed to the murders in order to cover up for his son. That would lead to the rope for both of them! Worse, if people believed that Gregory had been committing sodomy, it could mean a pyre.
There must be another way to get him released, and all the way home, Gregory tried to think which of the pleaders would be best for his father. It must be a man experienced in matters of this complexity. A murderer who confessed and then denied his guilt was a rarity.
‘John!’ he called as he entered, slamming the door shut behind him and throwing hat and cotte to the ground. ‘Where is my mother?’ he demanded when he saw Joan in the hall with Thomas.
Thomas looked up at him with a look of terror, quickly ducking behind Joan.
‘What is it, little one?’ Joan asked. She was quiet, and held Thomas closely, Gregory saw.
‘Thomas? Come to me,’ Gregory said. He squatted, as he would before a puppy, beckoning with both hands in as welcoming a manner as he could. ‘Do as I say, Thomas. I am the master of this house now.’
His brother turned and rammed his face into Joan’s arm. She looked down and threw an accusing glance at Gregory.
‘I’ve d
one nothing to him,’ he protested.
‘Leave him, please,’ Joan said. ‘He is alarmed. It’s all the murders. Death and his father in gaol. Plus he’s hurt himself.’ She gestured at the bloodstained bandage about his knee.
‘That’s not my fault,’ Gregory spat, rising. He was tempted to go to Thomas and pull him from the maid, but his legs were still wobbly. Instead, he strode from the room. The buttery was empty, and he drew off a large cup of ale from the barrel, draining it in one draught.
‘I think you’ve had enough,’ Agatha said, as he refilled it. She had approached from the stairs, and now stood leaning in the doorway.
With her full body, Gregory thought she looked like a goddess. She was painfully beautiful sometimes.
‘Brother, dear, you need to get a grip,’ she said.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, but he knew his voice was thicker than it should be. ‘It’s Thomas. He’s terrified of me.’
‘You know that he’s been like that since last Saturday?’ she said and looked at him.
He remembered. The feel of soft flesh under his hands, the smooth, inner thighs parting for him. ‘Oh, God, Agatha!’
‘Yes. I think he saw everything. Are you surprised he’s a bit alarmed? Perhaps you should have a word with him.’
‘Thomas? I would never hurt him! Thomas is…’
‘Our brother, yes. How was Father? Ben said you went to see him.’
‘Worried. He wants a pleader.’
‘Who will you send?’
‘Christ knows,’ he muttered. He reached for the barrel again, but glancing at her, threw the cup aside. ‘John! JOHN!’ tie bellowed, and stormed through the house, finally finding the bottler in the kitchen yard.
‘Master?’
‘I need you to go to our clerk and find out who is the best pleader for the courts. We have to try to liberate Father from the gaol. His confession was an error. It was only to try to protect… well, me. He thought I had committed the murders, and wanted to save me. But I didn’t.’
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