‘I’d have thought there were few enough living to take revenge on him,’ she said. ‘He saw to that.’
Rob knew she was in the right there. There were only a few who wanted to see him dead.
And he had himself been one of them.
When their questioning was complete, Baldwin and Simon beckoned the clerk to follow them, and strode to the Blue Rache.
‘What is your name?’ Simon asked of the clerk. ‘I haven’t seen you about the place before.’
‘I am Jonathan, Bailiff. I hail from Winchester, and it is only a mere chance that I happened to be here. The good dean asked me if I could attend your inquiry, because he was holding a meeting this morning, and it was a great honour to be able to help you.’
‘You mean you have heard of Baldwin and me?’
‘No. But it’s always an honour to help law officers in their duties.’
‘Oh,’ Simon said, a little chastened.
The cleric saw his face fall and chuckled. ‘But although I have not heard of you myself, Bailiff, Dean Alfred was insistent that I should come. You have helped him in the past, and he wished me to convey his best wishes and begs you will advise him of any aid you need.’
‘That’s good to know. Why are you visiting?’
‘I brought messages to the chapter from the bishop.’
Simon nodded. Bishop Walter had been drawn from his comfortable palace in the service of the King, and now spent much of his time in the King’s household travelling about the realm. Naturally he wanted to communicate with his brethren at regular intervals. ‘Have you been here before?’
‘No. Never. It is a wonderful city. It flourishes under the benevolent eye of Bishop Walter.’
Simon grunted his approval. He knew the bishop quite well, and liked him. ‘Where are we going now?’ Jonathan asked after a moment or two.
‘The alehouse where the witness was drinking last night,’ Baldwin responded. ‘I want to confirm that man’s name, and also see why that fellow was so anxious. I think he lied about finding the body.’
Simon waited, but Baldwin was not going to explain his thoughts. For his part, Simon was intrigued about Moll. ‘She was convinced she was safe. She had no fear of being attacked herself.’
‘Perhaps she guesses the identity of the murderer, then,’ Baldwin said.
‘So you are going to make sure of the dead man’s name,’ Jonathan said.
‘That and anything else we can,’ Simon said. ‘I’ve often found murders were committed in hot blood because of arguments about money or a woman. Perhaps someone from the place can point us in the direction of the murderer.’
‘I see. Is that it?’
Baldwin had stopped at a low, thatched, dilapidated building with a tired-looking bush of furze tied to a horizontal pole over the door. The knight turned with a grimace to Simon and rolled his eyes. ‘This looks like your sort of den, Simon. I doubt whether they’ll have Guyennois wine fit for a knight.’
‘Don’t judge the ale by the tun,’ Simon said loftily.
Jonathan sniggered and, boosted by his appreciation, Simon shoved at the door.
Simon had visited many alehouses and taverns when his father was steward of Okehampton Castle. When he travelled with his father they would stop at places like this to refresh themselves and ensure their road ahead was safe. Alehouses were cheap drinking halls in which a man could consume as much rough ale as he wanted before collapsing. Food was rudimentary if available, and company was of the lowest sort; if a peasant wanted a place in which to sing and dance, however, there was nowhere better, and Simon had fond memories of many small alehouses.
Expecting this to be rough, Simon was not disappointed. It was the sort of hovel where people would assume that a foreigner was worthy of contempt and deserved to be considered an enemy. This was not Simon’s city, but that mattered little to the people inside. He could have been a man from one street away and they would have studied him in the same mistrustful manner. Because he was not of their own parish and lane, he was a foreigner to be scorned.
He walked inside and the room’s noise was hushed in an instant. Where before there had been excited chatter and arguments, now there was a menacing stillness. Unabashed, Simon strolled to the bar, a simple board laid over two barrel-tops, and leaned on it.
The chamber was perhaps fifteen feet by twenty, and the bar was at the far end. Along the walls were three benches, and in the middle of the room was a fire, which threw up a sullen flame every so often in the midst of a rank smoke. There were two barrels upended to serve as tables, and about these were some rough stools, three of them simple cylinders sawn from large logs. On the floor was a fine splintering of ancient rushes, their stalks long since mashed by the passage of so many feet, and the whole place reeked of urine and sourness.
In all there were some fourteen men in there. Simon took in their faces as he leaned against the bar. Some were vacant with ale even at this early hour, but two or three looked belligerent enough. Simon smiled at them easily. There was a mixture of folk: nearer Simon stood a pair of sailors, who brought the stench of tar and the sea into the place, their hands stained black, their faces burned the colour of old oak. Behind them was a carter, chewing slowly at a straw while he toyed with a jug of ale. Farther back was a group of three men playing at knuckles, rolling the bones enthusiastically and seeming to pay Simon little attention. In short, it was the usual mix of people who had come to Exeter to make use of the market, some to buy, some to sell.
One of the sailors curled his lip and spat, but as he did so there was a shivering ring of steel, and all eyes turned to the doorway where Baldwin stood, his sword held negligently in his fist. Suddenly everyone found merit in a study of the contents of their cheap pottery drinking horns. Jonathan nervously stepped around Baldwin to take his place at a bench, where he smoothed a sheet of vellum and readied pens and ink.
While he prepared himself, Simon faced the ale-wife. ‘There’s a man murdered up the lane from here. First Finder was called Rob Brewer, who was in here last night.’
She was a pretty girl, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old, and with bright golden hair almost concealed under a cotton cap. Green eyes with hazel flecks met his unflinchingly. She shrugged and cast a glance over the drinkers. ‘Loads in here last night.’
‘The dead man was young, two or three days of beard, some inches shorter than me, fairish hair cut short, long nose, eyes set close, pointed chin–do you know him?’
‘Was he wearing a grey fustian tunic?’ asked a man.
‘Aye, and green hose,’ Simon agreed.
The speaker was thirty or so, with a face scarred from the pox and a great shining burn scar that ran from left to right temple over his brow.
‘Did you know him?’
‘If it’s the same lad, it was Will from Chard.’
‘Did he get into a fight last night?’ Baldwin called.
‘He was here with some friends. They argued a bit. Who doesn’t?’
‘We have to find his killer,’ Simon said. ‘Who was he with? What happened?’
‘There were two men with him. One was a youngster works up near West Gate. I thought he was Rob Brewer. The other’s heavier, fellow by the name of Adam.’
Another spat at the floor. ‘Bastard should be called Cain.’
‘Why?’ Simon asked, glancing at Baldwin. He had noticed that name, Simon saw. Brewer had told them he didn’t know who the dead man was.
This man was dark skinned with a cast in one eye and a bruise on his right temple. He spoke with a slight lisp, as though a tooth was giving him pain. ‘He’s dishonest. He’d rob his mother for profit, then beat her if there wasn’t enough.’
‘Get on, Tad. You’re sore ’cos he knocked you down,’ commented the first.
‘Shut your noise, Ed. You don’t know the little shite.’
Simon raised a hand to silence them both. He nodded to the man with the cast in his eye. ‘Why did he hit you?’
The man looked shifty, as though he didn’t want to discuss his affairs with a law officer. ‘He was making trouble.’ Seeing Simon’s expression, he glowered, then added, ‘Look, he was in here with his friends, Rob and Will, and they were making a load of noise. I sort of asked him to shut it. That’s all.’
‘No, it’s not all,’ Simon said. He leaned against the bar. ‘Where can we find these men now?’
Tad shrugged and turned away. ‘Who gives a…’
Suddenly the knight in the doorway was in front of him and the sword was under his chin. Tad clenched a fist, but before he could think of swinging, he found himself grabbed by the shirt and thrust back against the wall. The sword’s point was pricking the soft flesh of his throat.
Baldwin grinned wolfishly. ‘I do, friend: I do. And I intend to find out.’
The knight looked as grim as a mercenary. Tad had no doubt that he’d skewer him in an instant, and enjoy doing so.
‘Adam, Rob and Will,’ Simon said patiently. ‘What were they doing; what caused your fight with Adam–everything.’
Tad was tempted to tell him to go and swive his horse, but the sword’s point was sharp. There was a trickling under his chin, and he had an unpleasant suspicion that it was blood. He daren’t move his head in case he impaled himself. Someone had once told him that an easy way to kill was with a thrust under the chin, straight up, through the tongue, the palate, and into the brain. He had a sudden vision of his body on tiptoe, the point of that evil-looking blue blade buried in his skull…
‘All right!’ he gasped. ‘But take that sword away.’
To his relief, the pressure subsided a little.
‘What do you know of this man Rob?’ Simon asked.
‘He’s a stableman. If it wasn’t for his brother, he’d never have started their game.’
‘He’s pathetic,’ Ed agreed. He belched.
‘Who is his brother?’
‘Andrew. But he didn’t come in last night,’ Tad said. ‘I didn’t see him.’
‘Wasn’t here,’ Ed agreed. ‘Probably out with his wench.’
‘Who is she?’ Baldwin demanded.
‘How should I know? Thing is, the brothers are always together. There’s a reason when they aren’t.’
Simon frowned. ‘Could Rob Brewer have killed Will of Chard, then?’
‘No.’ Tad didn’t think so. ‘He’s not a hard man. His brother Andrew could. It’s said him, Adam and Will attack people on the way here to market, knock them down and take their purses. Adam is a hard bastard. He’s got a room up near the Dominicans. Down Stycke Street. There’s a cordwainer’s shop–the man lost a lot of money and rents a room over the shop. Adam and Will live there. Well, Adam does now.’
‘What of Andrew?’
‘Rob’s brother? He shares with Rob most nights. A stable’s a good warm place to live.’
‘What was your argument about last night?’ Simon asked.
‘Look, Adam was looking for a fight. That’s how he is. The more he has to drink, the more he wants a fight. He made some comment about me, and I…That’s all.’
‘He insulted you to your face?’ Baldwin said.
‘Not to my face, no. He said it to another, and he told me.’
‘Tell us what happened.’
Tad could remember the whole evening perfectly clearly. ‘I got there before them. I got to the alehouse for a chance to relax, when those three turned up, bought their ales, and sat down in the corner of the room away from the door.’
‘Rob was with them?’ Simon sought to confirm.
‘’Course.’ In his mind’s eye he could see the three sitting with their heads close together, staring at the things in Will’s lap. Tad glanced at Simon’s face and grimaced. ‘Look, they’d robbed some poor bastard, I expect. Probably beat up someone, left him by the roadside and brought all his stuff to be shared out.’
‘What did they divide between them?’ Baldwin said.
‘Will had a little box. I saw Adam try to grab it,’ Tad recalled, ‘but Will wouldn’t let him.’
Simon glanced at Baldwin. ‘Will had something Adam wanted?’
‘Did it rattle, this box?’ Baldwin guessed. ‘Did it contain money?’
‘I saw him share out coins first, so it wasn’t that. No, there was something else in the box itself. Like a glass vial or something.’
‘What was it like, this box?’
‘Oh, just dark wood. There were some shiny bits on it. Didn’t see more than that.’
Baldwin was frowning. ‘Did anyone else in the tavern see it?’
‘A stranger. I saw him staring.’ The sword rose slightly and he spoke more hurriedly. ‘Tall, built heavy like a man-at-arms, dressed in black. Good leather boots…He was with one of the whores.’
Jonathan’s reed was over-full, and on hearing this word he made a large blot on the page. He quickly tried to rectify the mistake by setting his sleeve over the ink and soaking it up, but he was too hasty and knocked his reeds on the floor. Moaning to himself, he bent to retrieve them, and noticed two small parchments under his table. He picked them up with the reeds and set them on the table as he continued writing.
‘Christ’s bones,’ Simon breathed. ‘I’d bet my horse that he was the man told Art to fetch help.’
Baldwin’s puzzlement grew. ‘In which case, was he a companion of the wounded man, or a friend sworn to avenge him? Or does he also seek to steal this box?’
‘Did you see any sign of Rob’s brother last night or today?’ Simon asked.
There was no answer beyond a slow shaking of heads. Baldwin was about to draw Simon aside to talk when there was a loud pounding on the door. The sergeant who had been by Will’s body came in, panting. ‘Sir Baldwin, there’s another body, out towards Bishop’s Clyst. Can you come?’
Rob was so forlorn that Annie finally agreed to go for a drink. Neither wanted to go to the Blue Rache, and she suggested a tavern out near the Guildhall.
‘I’m worried,’ he said when they had a pot of ale each and were sitting outside in the sun. ‘Andrew has disappeared. I don’t know where he could be. And Will dying…I don’t want to stay with only Adam.’
‘Why not? He’s not changed.’ Her tone was cold, and she looked pale. Rob thought she was quite distracted…it was only to be expected. She had loved Andrew too. He’d been like a brother to her. ‘Will’s dead, but I expect Andrew will turn up again.’
‘No,’ he said with conviction. ‘If he was going to come back, he would have already. Yesterday we attacked two men, a clerk and a man-at-arms, and I think Andrew was killed by them.’
‘It would take much to beat Andrew,’ she said. ‘He’ll come back, you see.’
‘If he doesn’t, what’ll I do? I can’t stay with Adam. He’s mad–he’d kill me in a moment’s rage. The only time he’s happy is when he sees other people suffering.’
‘Rubbish. He just wants to make money, and stop living hand to mouth all the time.’
‘Well, we all do. But there are ways of doing it that are safer.’
‘Safer?’ she scoffed, and nodded towards St Nicholas Priory. ‘I suppose you’d prefer life in the cloisters, would you?’
He was quiet for a moment. ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t want to lose you. I couldn’t join the monks.’
‘Then stop whining about him. He’s part of your life. Our life.’
‘If I stay with him, I’ll end on a felon’s rope.’
‘Oh, leave him, then!’
He was hurt that she was irritated by his ramblings, yet he had to explain his plan to her. ‘Perhaps I could find a new trade.’
‘What?’ she demanded. ‘You have no skills. Everything you’ve tried has turned sour. You’re good with horses, but that won’t make you rich.’
‘Well, I can’t carry on like this for ever,’ he said, glancing about them. ‘Being a felon has no future. Not if a man wants to be married. I could learn myself stonework, perhaps? There’s always a living to be earned as
a mason. I could build walls. They can’t be that difficult.’
She looked at him. ‘Maybe,’ she said, relenting in the face of his misery.
Just that was enough to make him grin. She almost expected him to start capering, like one of those bears that would dance at the whistle of his master. He made her want to scream, and the feeling made her hate herself.
This man had saved her when she first arrived, and she was grateful to him for that, but he was so pathetic! Rob always moaned and whined, seeing risks or dangers in any plan, never agreeing to any new ideas, not like Andrew. Andrew had always worn that smile of confidence. If he wanted something, he found a way to acquire it.
‘We could leave the city and find a new place,’ he said. ‘We could marry.’
‘What, with all the gold we’ve saved?’ she demanded scathingly. ‘Shall we hire a pair of horses to ride to York or London?’
She had nearly died during the famine. Nobody could make her surrender to fate again. Here there was a house, some food and friends. She’d sworn that she would never starve again, no matter what.
‘I have something,’ he said quietly, and he stole a look over his shoulder before reaching under his tunic and bringing out a leather purse. ‘This could make our fortune. Will said it was Andrew’s share from our ambush yesterday, but he wanted to steal it. I managed to keep it last night…now I don’t know what to do with it.’
Annie eyed him doubtfully. Rob had been kind to her when she’d needed help, but that didn’t mean she was keen to marry him. God! The idea he’d take her away to an uncertain life elsewhere was ridiculous. Andrew maybe, but not Rob. No: she couldn’t go with him.
Interesting box, though. She opened it and saw the glass bottle. She stared, wondering what it was.
There were few things that could be worth having a box like this built around them. It was beautiful, like a…
Peering closely, she frowned. She’d seen boxes like this, though more richly decorated, in churches. Studying it, she could see fragments of gold leaf adhering to the lid, and she took the vial out and stared at the wood inside, rattling it gently. She touched the plug but didn’t pull out the stopper. Something made her stop. Her breath was a little strained, and her heart was thudding painfully as she shook her head and replaced the vial unopened in the box. If this was a holy relic, she didn’t want to touch it. It could burn her.
The Tainted Relic Page 21
