The Crooked Spire

by Chris Nickson

  ‘If you travel you learn how to look after yourself.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He glanced over at the monk. ‘What do you think, brother?’

  ‘You believe Hugo sent him?’ Robert asked.

  ‘I do. I went out to the manor yesterday. They said Hugo was away.’ He shrugged. ‘But they could have been lying.’

  ‘What did you learn out there?’ the coroner asked him.

  ‘Nothing. They’ve felled quite a few trees; some are still waiting to be hauled away. That’s it.’

  De Harville remained silent for a long time, pacing around the stable, stopping to stroke the horses and whisper soothingly to them. John and the monk looked at each other, their expressions blank. ‘So what do you do now, carpenter?’ he said finally.

  ‘I don’t know, Master.’

  ‘Watch out for Hugo,’ the coroner advised. ‘He’s a clever man.’

  ‘I’ve seen that,’ John said wryly.

  ‘If you’re going to be of any use to me in this, I need good evidence.’

  ‘I understand that, Master.’

  The coroner stared at him, confusion and frustration on his face. ‘You don’t make any sense to me. I keep underestimating you.’ He hesitated. ‘There’s more than luck in taking someone like that. You saw his eyes, they’re empty.’

  ‘Perhaps the bailiffs will find out he’s working for Hugo.’

  The coroner shook his head. ‘They’ll hurt him, right enough, but I doubt he’ll say much. He’ll be sent to Derby to stand trial.’

  ‘And hang?’

  ‘That depends who supports him. If it’s my brother he’ll vanish quietly before it ever comes to court.’

  ‘So all this is for naught?’

  ‘Most likely,’ he said with a slow nod. ‘Whoever that man is, he’s being paid well to keep his mouth closed. That should tell you something.’

  ‘How’s Dame Martha?’ Robert asked.

  ‘Terrified.’ The monk nodded sadly. ‘She might enjoy some peaceful company today.’

  ‘Go and see her, Brother,’ the coroner suggested. ‘Pray with her. She’s a good woman.’

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘What am I going to do with you, carpenter?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ de Harville said with a small laugh. ‘But you seem capable of making things happen by yourself. Where will I see you next? Bringing me Hugo, or will I be examining your body?’

  ‘Pray God I’ll be alive.’

  ‘I hope so, I have plenty for you to do out at Unstone. For now, you seem to be managing.’ He swept back into the house.

  ‘I’ll come and see Dame Martha later,’ Robert told him. ‘The master’s right, it’s Christian work.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be grateful.’

  ‘Go with God,’ the monk said. ‘I pray He keeps watching over you.’

  • • •

  At the house he poured ale and took a mug up to the solar. Martha was dressed, sitting in bed with the coverlet pulled around her. Her eyes were red from tears, the skin of her cheeks pale.

  ‘Here,’ he said gently. ‘I brought you this. He’s in the gaol now and they’ll send him to Derby. You’re safe, I promise.’

  She turned to face him, her mouth mournful. ‘Why, John? What did he want?’

  ‘He wanted to kill me.’ He reached across and pressed her hand gently. ‘They’re going to have to do better than that to succeed.’

  She began to cry again, dabbing away the tears with a piece of linen. ‘He was in my home.’

  ‘I’ll make sure no one else can get in.’

  ‘I’ll never be able to forget he was here.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he told her gently. ‘It’s my fault.’

  She sat up straighter, her face suddenly alive. ‘Your fault?’

  ‘If I hadn’t started looking into all this …’

  ‘No,’ she said forcefully, the blood coming back into her face. ‘I don’t blame you. I’m scared, John, I’m not stupid. What you’re doing takes courage.’

  ‘He could have killed you.’

  ‘And he would have killed you. Think about that, John Carpenter.’

  ‘I have, believe me.’ He squeezed her hand a little more. ‘Brother Robert’s coming over to see you later.’

  She laughed. ‘How did you persuade him to do that?’

  ‘The coroner ordered it.’ He grinned. ‘The brother will do his duty.’

  ‘John,’ she told him slowly, ‘I don’t understand what’s going on here, but please don’t worry about me. Do what’s right.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He stood. ‘I’ll make sure the house is secure.’

  He worked carefully, checking every entrance and window until he was certain they couldn’t easily be forced. Anyone would have to break down the door to get in and the noise would wake half the town.

  Martha was in the hall, working on her embroidery. Her fingers moved slowly, but her touch was unsure, shaking, and she kept having to pull out stitches, muttering in frustration to herself.

  He fitted the satchel on his shoulder.

  ‘I can stay if you need,’ he offered.

  ‘You go,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ll be fine. Robert will be here before dinner, if I know him well. That man was always led by his belly.’

  • • •

  At the house on Saltergate Katherine drew him in quickly and took him straight out to the garden.

  ‘Who was he?’ she asked bluntly.

  ‘I don’t know. He wouldn’t say anything.’

  ‘He came for you, didn’t he?’ Her eyes were on him, daring him to lie to her.

  He nodded. ‘He was there to kill me.’

  ‘He didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘No. I was able to take him by surprise.’

  ‘How’s Martha?’

  ‘She putting on a face as if she’s fine, but she’s shaking inside.’

  ‘I’ll go and see her later,’ Katherine told him.

  ‘The coroner’s clerk is going to pray with her.’

  She snorted. ‘She needs a woman there, not a monk.’

  He smiled. ‘I’m sure she’d be happy to have your company.’

  ‘Do you think you can win in this?’ Katherine asked.

  Win, he thought – he wasn’t even sure what that meant. He had believed that winning was finding Will’s murderer, but that had been done and now Geoffrey was dead as well. Some would find God’s hand in that, the divine justice. And now? Whatever he did, the oak would still be used on the spire. The diocese had paid for it and they wouldn’t spend more. Few would care what would happen; the results, the twisting and the warping of the timber, would be years away, when the children of today’s children were grown and no one could recall what had happened. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered eventually and stirred. ‘I should get to work.’

  ‘You’re not getting away like that, John.’

  ‘I didn’t think I could,’ he admitted wryly.

  ‘I need some honesty from you.’

  ‘Honesty?’ he asked in surprise, ‘I’ve told you what I know.’

  She reached out and placed her small fist on his cote over his heart. ‘I want the truth of what’s in there.’ He didn’t know how to answer. He felt the warmth of her palm and the firm pressure against his chest. His heart was beating a little faster. ‘I’ve made it plain what I feel, haven’t I?’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’ His voice surprised him, hoarse and quiet, all the confidence gone.

  ‘But you’ve said nothing of what you’re thinking. I need to know, John.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say to you.’

  ‘No?’

  He shook his head. ‘I can’t give you any sweet words.’

  ‘I don’t want sweet words,’ she told him with a shake of her hair. ‘I just want your truth, John. Give me that.’

  He looked at the ground. Finally he pulled her to him and kissed her mouth, his lips staying on hers until they couldn’t br
eathe any longer. ‘Is that honest enough for you?’

  She grinned happily. ‘It’ll do for the moment. Now you can get to work.’

  He lost himself in his tasks, concentrating on each job, doing it as well as he could and taking pride in his labour. She came to him often, bringing ale and a few words, and he could remember the taste of her. There were things he had wanted to say but for now he knew it was better to remain quiet. He liked the girl, so spirited and different, but there was a long distance between that and what she hoped to find in him. Alone, there was no one to betray him, no one to ask him where he’d been. He had given his heart once. He was in no rush to do it again.

  He finished before twilight, packing up and leaving while Katherine supervised the girls, slipping out with a quick farewell before she could come after him. He kept his hand on the hilt of his dagger all the way back to Knifesmithgate, his body tense.

  It was only when he locked the door behind him that he could feel his body ease, noticing that his hand was shaking and his breathing ragged.

  ‘It scared you, too, didn’t it?’ Martha said, watching him. She seemed brighter, more alive than when he had left.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘It did. Has Robert visited you?’

  ‘He stayed two hours.’ She smiled. ‘You should have seen him at first. Nervous as a cat wanting to know he could escape. God only knows what he thought I was going to do to him. But we began talking about the way things were like when we were young.’

  ‘You look all the better for it.’

  ‘I am.’ She flexed her fingers. ‘He remembered things I’d forgotten, like the time he fell in the river when we were playing and his mother thrashed him red raw for coming home wet. As soon as he mentioned it I could see him clear as I see you now, walking up Soutergate dripping and crying because he knew what was going to happen.’ She sighed. ‘He took me out of myself and that’s the best thing he could have done. I still won’t sleep well for a long time, but at least he sent the black dog from my mind.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘What about you? Have you thought what you’re going to do next?’

  ‘No. There’s not much I can do, except wait.’

  ‘That’s never easy, is it, lad?’

  He shook his head. ‘If I’d known all this would come into your house I’d never have done it.’

  ‘You’re doing something right,’ she told him. ‘I’d rather that, no matter the troubles it brings with it. Young Katherine would, too. She needs someone who believes in things.’

  ‘She doesn’t need someone who could die tomorrow.’

  ‘What’s tomorrow?’ Martha asked. ‘I’ve been on this earth long enough to know that tomorrow’s just a dream. It might not happen for any of us. Just think back a few years and you know that yourself. God places us here to live, John. If you don’t do that you’re not serving Him well.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he acknowledged with a frown.

  ‘You grow old enough you’ll see that I’m right,’ she told him confidently. ‘Don’t let anyone say wisdom comes with old age. The only thing it brings is acceptance.’

  ‘Are you trying to distract me?’ he asked with a smile.

  ‘I was doing a good job of it there for a minute, too,’ she laughed. ‘Pour us some ale. I daresay sleep will take a while for us both tonight.’

  ‘We’re safe in here. I made sure of that.’

  ‘Maybe we are.’ She tapped a finger against her skull. ‘It’s in here that we’re not.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  He kept the knife under his pillow, his fingertips reaching up to touch it and feel the reassurance of the handle. It was a broken sleep, no real rest at all, full of dark dreams, of things waiting just beyond the horizon and dangers that he couldn’t quite see. Twice he sat up, sweat chilling on his skin, believing he’d heard something before realising it was just the night mare galloping through his head.

  By dawn he was up and finding his awkward way into his clothes, fitting the sling over his head and putting his arm into it. It itched under the cast at times; sometimes so much that he wished he could take his nails to the skin and rub it raw. But it hadn’t given him any pain for days. Maybe it would set properly and he would have the full use of both arms. Just a short while ago that had seemed to be the only thing in life that mattered. Now, knowing he would never be hired back at St Mary’s, it seemed curiously unimportant.

  • • •

  On Sunday he escorted Martha to the church, letting her hold onto him as they walked down the path to the ringing of the bell. He glanced up at the tower, noticing they’d done no more work on the spire. Nor would they until spring, he guessed. Over against the wall of the yard were the piles of timber, covered by canvas, just as he had seen them a few days before.

  She hung close on his arm as they entered the church porch and into the nave.

  ‘Let them all think I’m weakened,’ she whispered with a sly grin. ‘At least it’ll give them something to talk about.’ He delivered her to the goodwives and widows, their tongues chattering as they fussed about her. He began to move to the back of the church, towards the workers and the single men, then changed his mind and joined Walter, Katherine and the rest of their family. The girls crowded close, eager to tell him all they’d been doing, while Katherine smiled gently.

  ‘Good day, Mistress,’ he said, giving her a bow.

  ‘Good day, Master.’

  ‘John,’ Walter asked with concern on his face, ‘is what they said true? That someone came to kill you?’

  ‘It’s true enough,’ he said.

  ‘Did he hurt you?’

  ‘No.’ He glanced at Katherine. ‘He didn’t hurt me.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad about that,’ the boy told him with a smile. ‘I don’t want you to be hurt.’

  He dawdled with them after the service, Janette and Eleanor running hither and yon in the churchyard, around and between the piles of stone that lay here and there, jumping and laughing.

  ‘Has anything more happened?’ Katherine asked. She moved nearer to him, so close they almost touched. A few of the older women who’d remained looked on with scandalised horror while the girl stared back with amusement.

  ‘Do you enjoy doing that?’ he asked her.

  ‘They like to cluck like hens, so I just wanted to give them something to cluck about. At least they won’t have to make it up. Do you know what they’re saying about you?’ He shook his head. ‘If you believe the gossips, you overpowered two men in Martha’s house and led them naked as the day God brought them into the world to the coroner.’ He laughed loud as faces turned to him, outraged that anyone should find humour so close to the Lord’s house. ‘It’s the truth, John, I heard someone saying it at the market yesterday. She claimed she’d seen it with her own eyes.’

  ‘Believe me,’ he said, shaking his head at the tale, ‘one was more than enough. And no, there’s been nothing more.’

  ‘Janette,’ she cried. ‘Eleanor. Come on, it’s time for us to go before your gowns are covered in mud.’ She turned to him. ‘Would you walk with us? Stay for dinner if you like.’

  ‘I’ll gladly go with you, but I’m going to eat with Martha. Brother Robert is coming by later, but I’ll give her company over her meal.’

  ‘The monk’s back again?’ Her eyes twinkled at the nugget of gossip.

  ‘They talk about when they were young together.’

  ‘Then maybe you can spend time with my brother this afternoon,’ she suggested. ‘I think he’s jealous that I see more of you than he does.’

  He glanced up at the sky, the high clouds, the breath of a chill in the air.

  ‘Aye, that would be good.’

  • • •

  The meal was just bread and cheese, but she’d pulled the loaf out of the oven just before they left for church, and it was still warm in the centre as he ate, the rough texture of the wheat sweet on his tongue. Washed down with freshly-brewed ale, it was as good a feast as
he had ever tasted.

  By the time he and Walter set out on the road the day had cooled a little, the wind picking up out of the west, enough to rustle the leaves in the branches and send the first few tumbling. Autumn was close. They were walking north, following the path towards Dronfield, the one that had first brought him to Chesterfield.

  They’d covered little more than a mile when he heard hooves in the distance. He looked back to see who was riding up, ready to move aside for the horse.

  ‘John,’ Walter whispered urgently, ‘I know who that is. It’s Hugo.’

  ‘Run back to town. Go straight to the coroner. I’m the one Hugo wants; he’ll leave you be.’ He turned to the boy to see him looking at the rider.

  ‘No, John,’ he said. ‘You’re my friend. I’m going to stay here with you.’

  ‘God’s blood.’ He growled and tried to push the lad with his good hand. ‘Go!’

  Walter stood his ground stubbornly and shook his head.

  ‘Then take my staff.’ He thrust the wood at the boy. The horse was closer now, easing back into a canter. The man in the saddle was gazing intently at them. John had seen him before, talking to the new master carpenter at the church. He had long hair that waved free in the breeze and he was dressed like a lordling, wearing a heavy robe with a fur collar, brilliant red wool hose and high boots that shone as the light caught them. A sword in its scabbard bounced at his side.

  As he approached, John moved in front of the lad, keeping his hand resting on the hilt of his knife, watching as the man reined in the horse a few feet down the road.

  ‘You’re John the carpenter.’ His voice was a haughty drawl, as if even speaking to someone lowly was an effort.

  ‘You already know that, it seems.’

  ‘Who’s he?’ Hugo nodded at Walter.

  ‘No one to concern you.’

  ‘You were out at my manor, carpenter. What did you want with me?’

  ‘Your manor?’ John asked in surprise. ‘I was told it belong to Henry de Harville.’

  Hugo raised his head and tightened his grip on the reins. It was only a slight movement, but John noticed it. ‘I’m his steward. I look after it in his absence.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’