But then he lost everything.
Emma was the lintel on which his life had rested, sound and firm. When she died, it took the strength from his soul. Yet he could still discern a little of her magic and purpose when he saw children.
At first he had looked only at babies, like Saul’s kids when they were young. And when Saul lost his little one, he had welcomed Est’s visits to stand vigil over the survivor. Est had never meant to cause harm to any child. He couldn’t. Robbing a child of her innocence was a terrible crime. But that was what he had done to Cecily … it shouldn’t have happened! Daniel shouldn’t have rushed in there trying to hurt him. He shouldn’t have done that. Est had fled, almost colliding with the man outside. His appearance almost made Est scream, it scared him so much, but then he ducked and ran.
He had been watching children like Cecily ever since Emma’s death. When she was taken from him, he used to go and visit the children born at the same time as their own, seeing how they were. At first it was loneliness, then jealousy, and finally it was his Purpose.
That was how he viewed it. He had a God-given duty to protect these little ones from suffering. If there was anything he could do to protect them, he should. He would watch them during the night when he couldn’t sleep, not because he wanted to upset anyone, but because he knew God wanted him to look after the children of about his daughter’s age. All those little ones who could have been his own. Not that they were. He knew that. He wasn’t mad. No, it was just that others didn’t see life so clearly as he did. He knew that children in their innocence were more important than older people. Children were crucial. They were the future of the world.
And he had destroyed Cecily’s innocence. He had ruined her. Christ Jesus! He had broken his pact with God, and she had grown up.
In Jordan’s hall, Agnes felt as though she was in an alien place. It was so familiar – she had been here often enough with her lover when his wife was not about – and yet it seemed strange. Partly, perhaps, that was because she had seen Mazeline leaving as she came in. It was oddly shaming to meet her man’s wife here.
He had once told her that there was no need for her to fear his wife. At the time she had been comforted that he was so confident. Now she wasn’t so certain. It was something to do with the realization that his certainty might have been built upon his ability to scare Mazeline. At the time Agnes had thought he was simply being protective, meaning that he wasn’t scared of Mazeline’s temper, that he would weather any storms at home for an opportunity of making love with her, but now that she had seen the woman who was his wife, looking so cowed and beaten, she was suddenly struck with a sense of anxiety.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded as soon as she entered. ‘I didn’t ask you to come, did I?’
‘Hello, sweet,’ she said with a slight hauteur. ‘I am delighted to see you in so warm a temper.’
‘Did you see my wife just now?’
‘She was leaving as I came – she let me enter.’
He nodded curtly, and she could see that he was furious. ‘So you have probably upset her by coming in here. Why?’
‘I thought I ought to warn you, that’s all. Juliana knows.’
Suddenly his face was blank. Once Agnes had seen a man writing on a sheet of parchment outside a tavern, showing skill in the neat regularity of his letters. Another fellow came to watch, and, delighted, pointed to show it to a friend. His hand knocked the scribe’s jug and ale slewed across the wet writing, making it entirely illegible. Jordan’s face looked like that to her: in an instant all emotion was washed from it.
‘Warn me of what?’
‘Juliana is sure you killed her husband,’ Agnes said with an attempt at a chuckle. He was so cold, he was intimidating.
‘She knows more than I do, then.’
Agnes nodded, and her face eased a little as relief flooded her to hear his denial. ‘I never thought you did. It’s ridiculous. Why should you want to kill him? It’s just Juliana: she’s upset and I dare say in her present state she could accuse anyone of it. It must have been a draw-latch.’
‘Everyone has been talking about Estmund Webber, though. Why’d she accuse me?’
‘Maybe in the dark she thought she recognized you … but she can’t have, can she?’ she said lightly. It was a ludicrous idea – Estmund was a thin, weakly man, whereas Jordan was strong and hale.
‘Not me, no. I wasn’t there. I was gambling in the brothel outside the South Gate.’
There was something about his tone that snagged her hearing. It was a chill that seemed out of keeping. She put the thought to one side. Instead she pouted, hurt. ‘Why go there? Aren’t there gambling dens in the city itself? You don’t have to go out there. I know we haven’t had much time recently, but …’
He was standing now, with his back to her. ‘What else did she say?’
‘Eh? Nothing much. Only that you and Daniel never hit it off.’
‘Nothing else?’
There it was again, a certain edge to his tone that put her in mind of the long, cold stare of a viper before it struck. ‘No. What else could there be?’
‘I’d go back and make sure that she doesn’t try to tell anyone anything silly,’ he said, turning and facing her at last. ‘I wouldn’t want stories circulating about me for no reason.’ He smiled.
‘What sort of story could there be?’
He stared at her. Was it possible that this stupid bitch really didn’t know what he had been up to all these years? He had only picked on her because she was a way into the household of the sergeant, a fact which had made it all the easier to learn the simplest way to kill him. She must know; she must surely have guessed. That was why she was putting on this stupid front. Even as he stared, his head started to throb again. A very faint, keening whistle started to distract him.
It was only a short time ago that he had threatened to kill Juliana and her children, and since then he had not bothered to see Agnes again. There seemed little point. He was convinced that Juliana must have told her sister all about him. Agnes must know all that Daniel did. Except there was a vulnerability about her. Surely she couldn’t think that he was innocent . . .
‘Well, you go back and speak to Juliana,’ he said.
‘Yes. Of course,’ she said happily, and she gave him a smile as she left.
She’d known all along that there was no truth in the silly story. How could anyone think that her darling man could murder? It was absurd.
At the door she turned to wave, and caught sight of a cold, dead expression in his eyes. Just for a moment she saw him stare at her almost like a butcher studying a hog to be slaughtered, and then it was gone and her quick apprehension left her as he smiled and waved back.
No, she had imagined that expression. Her man could never wear a look like that. He loved her … and then she was pulled up in the middle of the street as a terrible thought struck her.
Juliana had said Jordan had threatened her, but what if he desired her now? Perhaps Juliana had stolen his heart, just as she had taken Daniel’s when it was really Agnes he loved.
No. This was nonsense. Jordan loved her, and no one else.
If only he wasn’t already married. Agnes could wish Mazeline dead.
Chapter Twenty
The last time Baldwin had seen Simon Puttock, the bailiff had been leaving for Dartmouth again. Now, as he entered the Dean’s hall and saw the bailiff standing cupping a goblet of wine in his hand at the window, Baldwin felt for the first time very little joy.
When they had parted, only a couple of weeks ago, Baldwin had been sad to see his companion leaving for his new home, but that sadness was caused by the knowledge that he wouldn’t be seeing Simon again for some while. Now, seeing Simon here in the Dean’s house, he knew full well that there must be a good reason for the bailiff’s appearance. Especially since Simon had plainly ridden from Dartmouth and had come straight here without taking time for a rest. His hosen and padded coat were thickly spattered with
mud of various hues: dull, peaty marks from around Dartmoor, lighter clay soil from the lands about Totnes, and bright red mud from nearer Exeter.
Tall and muscular, his features burned by the sun during his journeys in the last few months, Simon was a strong, powerful man with intelligence shining in his dark grey eyes. As the Abbot of Tavistock’s man in Dartmoor, he had come a long way since Baldwin had first met him seven or so years ago, and those years had been fairly kind to him. The only sign that he was over six and thirty was the greying hair at his temples.
‘I came as soon as your messenger arrived, Dean,’ he said warily. ‘Simon, God speed.’
‘Sir Baldwin, I should like to, er, consult you and Simon on a matter of some delicacy.’
‘Dean, I think that you should speak to the Coroner, Sir Peregrine, if you have any problems. I am still recovering,’ he added, indicating the sling which his wife had insisted that he must wear to come here.
‘Please, both, be seated. Ah, I appreciate your wounds have caused you some discomfort, and I only hope that my own request will not prove to be – um – onerous.’
‘My wife is packing as we speak, Dean, and I was hoping to be at Crediton before nightfall,’ Baldwin said.
‘Let me explain the problem, and then, if there is nothing you may do to, er, help us, then, um, you may feel free to leave immediately.’
With a bad grace Baldwin sat in a chair and listened. He knew the Dean. The man was damnably persuasive, and if he wanted Baldwin to remain here for a short while, it would upset poor Jeanne terribly. She was counting on returning home so that she could see their daughter Richalda again. It felt like too long since they had last seen her.
‘Sir Baldwin, um, we here in the chapter have had problems with the Dominicans, the Friars Preacher, for many years now. It all started when they – uh – began to encroach on our rights, just as happened in so many other dioceses. They took away some of our, er, flock by offering to listen to confessions, and we never thought that a good idea …’
‘Was it very expensive to lose the penances?’ Simon asked cheekily.
‘No, it, um, wasn’t that,’ the Dean said. He fiddled with the ring on his forefinger. ‘If a member of the congregation has committed a dreadful sin, they should, um, go and confess to their own priest. If they go to some itinerant Black Friar, whom they have, er, never met before and in all likelihood never will again, there is less, um, trepidation on their part. They will go to confession with a lighter heart. It must be less morally efficacious. And the penances may be entirely too light, which, um, means that they undermine the authority of the parish priest.’
‘I can scarcely believe that this is enough to cause you problems,’ Baldwin said.
‘It is not. They next, er, tried to take on our privilege of burying people. Of course, we have never, er, stopped them burying their own in their cloister. It is entirely right that dead friars should be buried on their own lands. But when they, er, try to take over lay burials, the whole matter changes. And that is what they have done. They took Henry Ralegh at about the turn of the century, and tried to bury him. That was so flagrant a, um, trespass, that we felt, some of us, that something must be done. So two members of the chapter hurried there with some servants as soon as we heard of it. Um.’
Baldwin looked at Simon. The bailiff was studying the Dean with an expression of amused tolerance. He glanced at Baldwin and grinned at the Dean’s discomfort.
‘It all came to a head that day, really. It, er, ended sourly. The two and their servants broke into the chapel and took the body, the cloth, the ornaments and candles, everything! All of it was quite legitimately ours, not the Black Friars’, um. But of course they fiercely denied any such suggestion. They alleged that, um, they had the right to bury a confrater who had lived with them as one of them, even if he had not actually taken on their habit. It was, um, as you can imagine, er, quite a difficult time.’
Simon gulped his wine enthusiastically. ‘So what happened? You held the funeral and buried the man, and …’
‘We held his – ah – funeral, but when we, er, took the body back to the friars, they locked their gates against us. Quite, um, childish. Naturally, there was little we could do. So we, um, left him there.’
Simon sprayed wine and guffawed. ‘You left the poor … fellow out there? What, just dumped the body and ran back to the cathedral?’
The Dean scowled distastefully. ‘We, er, had a duty to return the body to them, we felt.’
‘But you kept the candles, the cloth, the estate …’ Simon grinned.
‘They were ours. Yet if they, er, wanted to have the body, we felt …’
‘They could keep it. I think we understand.’
‘Unfortunately that was not the end of the matter. They pursued the canons involved quite, um, relentlessly. Entirely unnecessary and pointless, of course, and we won all the cases they brought against us.’
Simon’s face cleared. ‘My … you mean this is the matter that so affected the Bishop for all those years before he was installed?’
‘Yes. He was, er, one of the two canons involved.’
Baldwin shrugged. ‘This is all old history, though. What does it have to do with us now?’
‘Feelings between our two, er, institutions have not eased over time. In fact, I would, er, say that they have deteriorated recently.’
‘Why is that?’ Simon asked.
From his tone of voice Baldwin could tell that he was enjoying the Dean’s discomfiture. It was not that Simon disliked the Dean, but to hear that such pettiness had erupted between two such powerful organizations was enough to amuse any man. Not Baldwin, though; not today. He had the feeling that this was leading up to his remaining in the city for a while, and he did not like the idea.
The Dean shook his head. ‘It started over the affair of Gilbert de Knovil’s money. Do you, ah, remember him? He was a Justice, and the Sheriff at the time. No? Well, he was a reliable man, when it came to his money. He deposited some with the Friars Preacher, and they, um … well, one of their fellows, Nicholas Sandekyn from Bristol, took it. And another friar knew of the theft, as did three successive priors. So, we here in the chapter, um, rather enjoyed their embarrassment.’
‘As you would,’ Simon said. He was trying to keep a straight face.
‘Yes. Um. Well, all was cool between us for some little while, but recently they have been exercising themselves against us under their new prior, Guibert. He, um, dislikes the chapter because he was one of those who witnessed our canons taking Ralegh’s body. And the fact that some, ah, canons thought it amusing to make fun of the friars when the theft was discovered did not endear us to him.’
‘So what has made matters worse recently?’ Baldwin asked.
The Dean squirmed in his seat, winced, looked up at the ceiling, and then sighed. ‘We have had a theft from a visitor . . . and a rash canon removed a second body from their chapel.’
Simon nodded seriously. He took a deep breath, looked at Baldwin, and roared with laughter.
Jordan sat in his chair for a long time after she left.
The whore, she had to know that he had been involved. Agnes couldn’t be so stupid as not to have noticed that he and Daniel detested each other. Anyway, Juliana must have told her. So Agnes was threatening … what? If Juliana accused him, no one hearing her could possibly doubt that Jordan had made sure Daniel was at last dead.
It was ridiculous to be so battened down. He was one of the wealthiest men in Exeter, and certainly one of the most powerful, bearing in mind all the men he had at his beck and call, and yet just now a tiny slip of a wench had him seriously humiliated. The poisonous bitch deserved to be swung by the ankles and dropped over the city walls. Except if Agnes were to suddenly die as well, Juliana would be bound to wonder whether her dear older sister’s death could be anything to do with Jordan. No one could be so stupid as to miss that. Ach! His head was hurting! The whistling in his ears was incessant, and so loud he wondered no
one else could hear it.
The little bitch was dangerous, that much was certain. Juliana was a problem too. He could show exactly where he was on the night Daniel was murdered, but after the way the receiver and the clerk responded to him that morning, he realized that there were many who’d be willing to listen with an open mind to accusations that he had himself planned Daniel’s murder. Especially since Agnes had made that snide little comment. He must make sure that Reg kept quiet about things.
It was a while since Daniel had first declared that Jordan must never be allowed inside his house again. Agnes had spoken very carefully, as though testing him.
‘Daniel is keen to find felons in the city, isn’t he?’ she had said.
‘He is a sergeant. I suppose he must look for crime everywhere he goes,’ Jordan had replied smoothly.
‘In some cases he knows exactly where to look. He says you are lucky because you haven’t been caught yet. Did you know he’s been chasing you ever since the famine? He kept that to himself after a while, poor Daniel. But just think what others would think if they were told. You should keep your efforts hidden, lover!’ She had giggled then, and reached for him, as though she thought that making love with a felon was a delightful distraction and amusement for her.
He didn’t need to think at the time; he had known perfectly well what people would have thought. They would have thought that Jordan was a bit of a daring soul, but a good fellow on the whole. If he was involved in a little naughty behaviour, keeping whores and gambling dens, so much the better. Most of the men in the city would visit his establishments at one time or another. Yes, they would have looked up to him, most of them. And some of the more senior merchants might have sought his friendship in order to gain preferential rates.
But now Daniel had died because he was close to showing that Jordan was busy making money illegally. That might just lead a few people to investigate him more closely. That Keeper, or the Coroner … either could cause him some difficulty. He should have thought of this; should have planned this aspect better. He hadn’t thought that Juliana would tell her sister all, though. The bitches hadn’t seemed to trust each other before. Why should they start now? He couldn’t understand it.
The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) Page 24
