They went out to the separate little house, just one room and a small chamber above, in which they conducted their business. Jordan went to the cupboard in which were several large pots of wine and selected one, pulling out the stopper and sniffing appreciatively.
‘What of her, Jordie? This wench?’
‘Daniel’s sister-in-law? She came to my house today and started acting like a wife! In front of Mazeline, too, as though the tart had some sort of claim on me!’
‘What did Maz say?’
‘She was a bit surprised, I think, but you know her. If she stood next to a statue of her in ice, you’d be hard pressed to tell which was real!’ He laughed and drank wine. ‘But the worrying thing is, Agnes made some comments a day or two back about Juliana knowing I’d killed her old man. Now we both know I didn’t, but that wouldn’t stop rumours. You know, I had a meeting a while back with the city receiver, and he didn’t come to greet me? Wouldn’t shake my hand or anything. Just a curt nod from the other side of the room. If Agnes or Juliana took it into their heads to accuse me, I could show I wasn’t anywhere near Daniel’s place, but it’d be embarrassing even so.’
‘So hope they keep quiet. You said you’d threatened Juliana: surely that’ll scare her into silence. She wouldn’t risk her children’s lives, would she?’
Jordan shook his head in an unconvinced manner. ‘I don’t know. I don’t like to think that they both have so much information about me. Perhaps it would be best if I were merely to have them removed. Without Daniel, there’s only them who are a threat to me, after all.’
‘You can’t kill them, Jordie! What if you were seen? It’s one thing to kill a man like the sergeant – I mean, anyone could have wanted him killed, from Ham’s friends, to Henry or Est … any number of people. But to kill Daniel’s wife as well, that would be too much …’
‘If you reckon. Still, it’s your neck, I suppose,’ Jordan said easily.
‘Mine?’
‘I wasn’t there when Daniel died. I was here. But you weren’t. Sabina would vouch for you, I suppose, not tell the truth about where you were? She’d back up your story, wouldn’t she? Yes, if you think it’s safe enough for you to leave the women alive, that’s fine. It’s your life at risk. Not mine.’
Jordan smiled at him, but not this time, Reg swore to himself. He had submitted to people all his life – Jordan, Sabina, others – and all that had happened was, he had lost his son. He was done with doing other men’s bidding.
He wouldn’t kill for Jordan. Jordan could find another assassin.
Early the next morning Baldwin woke to find himself alone in bed. He opened his eyes and glanced about the room, only to see Jeanne at the window, a loose-fitting tunic about her, staring out at the dawn.
He stood and went to her side. ‘I miss Richalda.’
‘I do too,’ she said.
There was a soft sadness about her which he hated to hear. ‘My love, I want to get home as soon as possible.’
‘Good. Just finish your business here, and we’ll return.’
‘I will … if it cannot be cleared easily and quickly, I shall tell the Dean that it is beyond me. What can I do, after all?’ he asked with a sudden frustration. ‘There is one man I should speak to, this Estmund, but he has disappeared. His friend Henry may know where he is, but he will not tell me. Unless I speak to Est, I cannot learn what happened there in Daniel’s house. Why should I stay here any longer to torment myself? I may as well be in Crediton as here. Estmund has probably fled the city. Ach! And then there is this dead pander too, and his whore … My arm hurts, my heart aches, and I want to see you happy again. Jeanne, when we return, we shall go for a long ride each day. We could ride off to your estate – we haven’t been there for a long time. Would you like that?’
She looked up at him. ‘You mean that? We could go and visit Liddinstone?’
‘I swear it. I will do anything to bring back my happy, smiling, cheerful wife again.’
‘Then you have succeeded,’ she said.
‘Good. My love, it is good to see you smile again,’ he said.
They broke their fast in the hall of the inn with Simon and Edgar. Baldwin was without his sword as they ate, but before Simon and he left, he sent Edgar to the room again to fetch his little riding sword. It was only two feet long, maybe a little more, and had a blade of peacock blue that caught the sun whenever he drew it. It was a perfect balance for his hand, and he took it from the scabbard now, studying it to make sure that there was no dirt or rust on it.
‘Expecting trouble?’ Simon asked lightly.
‘Today, speaking to this man Jordan, yes, I think I am,’ he answered, and told Edgar to remain with Jeanne.
He led the way from the inn, with a backward glance at his wife, who lifted a hand in farewell, and then he and Simon were out in the daylight. Baldwin was glowering at the roadway as he walked, and Simon knew better than to interrupt his thoughts.
They stopped to collect Sir Peregrine on the way, and then the three of them walked down the road to Jordan’s house. Two men were slouching about outside.
‘Any sign of him?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.
‘No, sir. Stayed here all night and no sign of him at all. If he was down at the brothel over by the river, he’d not be able to get back inside the city anyway. He’d be locked out after dark.’
‘True enough,’ Baldwin said. He went to the door and knocked politely. ‘Is your master at home?’ he asked the bottler, who shook his head.
‘So what now?’ Sir Peregrine asked as they stood at the bottom of the road eyeing the two sentries.
‘I would suggest that we ought to go to the friary and see what this man Guibert has to say. But first …’ Baldwin said, and he paused. Walking back towards the watchmen, he beckoned a young boy and leaned down to speak to him, then passed a coin to the watchman nearest him. ‘This man will give you that penny when you return and tell him the reply. Is that clear?’
‘Yes. Find Henry and ask him to meet you at the cathedral near the conduit.’
‘Go!’ Baldwin saw Simon watching and listening. He returned to Sir Peregrine and Simon and shrugged. ‘It is probably pointless, but it may help.’
Friar John was already in the church when he heard the calls for the Prior, and soon he realized that a brother friar was waiting for him to be finished. With a last obeisance, he stood, bowed, made the sign of the cross, and gradually left the room, walking backwards respectfully.
‘What is it?’
‘John, the Prior has asked you to join him in the cloister. There are some men here to see him. They’re asking about the theft of Sir William’s body.’
Friar John rubbed his hands together. He was looking forward to this.
‘Prior,’ he said as he entered the grassed space. This was one of his favourite places, a clear, open area where he could meditate and study without interruption. It was important that he and the other friars should be educated to the highest possible standard about the latest views on natural philosophy, and this was the place to which he retired when he needed to consider new arguments for his preaching.
The men with the Prior were not religious. Two looked like knights, and one was a rather more disreputable-looking character, with strong shoulders and a square face.
‘John, I would be grateful if you could tell these gentles about the late Sir William and how he came to be here.’
‘Sir William was always a keen son of Christ. He fought in the Holy Land to try to protect it from the infidels, and was wounded out there. Returning, he took up the life of a knight in a small manor in Hatherleigh, and as he grew older, with no family, he bequeathed his estates and monies to us here at the priory, and came to live with us as a confrater. He took his part in our duties, shared our food such as it is, and spent his time in prayer. He was a most devout, good man. That was why, when he was dying, he expressed a desire that he should be buried here in our church. And that his funeral should be conducted here. The r
eason for that was simple – he always believed us Friars Preacher to be more holy than those who live over there.’ He pointed with his chin to the west where the canons had their houses.
‘He bequeathed his all to us, you see,’ Guibert said. There was a touch of triumphalism in his voice, and John could hardly blame him for it. ‘He gave over everything to us, for the safe protection of his soul. And those terrible men in the cathedral’s chapter sought to steal it all, and his body. And now they have held the funeral service for him.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed mildly. ‘And you owe the cathedral its due. Would you make that money over to them?’
‘I see no reason why I should make any money over to them! They stole his body and his funerary ornaments. All the candles, the cloths, everything was taken by the rowdy villains who came in here. One of my brethren was knocked down and injured.’
‘The Dean is most apologetic for the hurt done,’ Baldwin said. ‘He wishes that the affair might be settled. There is no point in a lengthy argument as there was over Sir Henry all those years ago.’
‘They may think so, but we are not here to accommodate thieves and churls,’ Guibert thundered. ‘First let them bring back the body and all the goods they stole, and make apology before the doors to our church; then we may consider whether we might help them. I promise nothing.’
Sir Peregrine tried to mollify him. ‘To call them all thieves is more than a little strong, when describing the religious men who live so close to you. They are as honourable, surely, as—’
‘Do not think to tell me that they are as honourable as my brethren here,’ Guibert interrupted boldly. He thrust out his chest. ‘We live in poverty, respecting no property whatever. We have nothing of our own, so that we might spend our time more effectively, concentrating on God’s will.’
‘The chapter spends its time in prayer for the souls of the living and the dead,’ Sir Peregrine tried.
‘And hastens the deaths of others so that they might win the funerary goods!’
Baldwin looked up sharply. ‘That is a very serious allegation. Do you have proof?’
‘I was speaking metaphorically,’ Guibert said, unabashed. ‘If you wish me to be literal, you should consider the theft of several pounds from a poor merchant only recently.’
Sir Peregrine had not heard of this. He looked at Baldwin, who, to his surprise, met the Prior’s outraged stare with a bland expression.
‘So, Prior, you are shocked to hear of the robbery? Did not something similar happen here some years ago?’
‘That was one bad apple. It was plucked out and discarded.’
‘And several priors were censured, I believe?’ Baldwin said. He lifted his hand to stem the angry expostulation. ‘Do you know a man called Jordan le Bolle?’
John nodded and glanced at his Prior. To his astonishment, Guibert essayed a frown and gave a firm shake of his head. ‘Who is he?’
‘A man who owns a brothel near the city walls. I am not surprised you do not know of him – he would hardly be fit company for a prior. He also owns a gambling house.’
‘What of it?’
‘I thought that a man such as yourself, always mingling with and preaching to the lowest fellows in the city, might have come across him in your wanderings. That is all,’ Baldwin said.
‘No.’
‘He managed to take several pounds from that same merchant Gervase, you know. Gervase can’t have been so very “poor”, can he? Not if he could lose pounds to Jordan le Bolle. He lost heavily in gambling at Jordan’s house, and then he was persuaded to go to the chapter and swear that it was stolen from him while he stayed there. It would blacken the name of the cathedral, that, would it not? And only an entirely unscrupulous man would ask a fellow to do that. Accuse the innocent in order to gain advantage over them.’
‘As you say,’ Guibert said. His hand was on his pate now, and he appeared to stare into the distance.
John listened with rising horror. The man was known, obviously, about the city, but he had no idea that Jordan was so evil a character. This was appalling.
‘But what interests me,’ Baldwin continued, ‘is what would have motivated this Jordan to demand such a course of action against the cathedral. It seems peculiar to me. Except he had perhaps a reason. He was making money from the cathedral’s rebuilding. We have heard that when each cargo was landed, if there was a valuable item, he would have it stolen and replaced with some cheaper stuff. And then he would sell the more expensive item back to the chapter. Enterprising, that. But people were growing suspicious of his actions. He wanted a distraction. Perhaps, he reasoned, if he were to create a theft at the cathedral, and then let others know of it …?’
John could stand silent no longer. If the man was a thief, and entirely corrupt, John could not seek to conceal his presence in this little priory. ‘I think perhaps you have forgotten the man, Prior – I saw you discussing some affair with him only a few days ago. You were involved in a lengthy conversation.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. Jordan is a tall man, powerful, energetic. He was here, walking about the place in conversation with you. About the time Sir William died,’ he added sharply.
Guibert looked at him then, and John felt the force of those watery old eyes, but he felt no guilt. Rather, he felt contempt, because he understood Guibert at last. The man he had revered for his courage and integrity had shown himself to be dishonest. He had tried to connive at the shaming of the canons for his own revenge. Perhaps he felt justified, but John thought that although the chapter was too wealthy for the good of the canons, God needed His priests to work together to confound the Devil. If Guibert was prepared to lie and dissemble, he was not honourable. And that meant he was not suitable to be Prior.
No, John could not uphold the tale Guibert had concocted. Now he knew that the story of the theft was untrue, John would have no further part in it. In fact, as he walked back to his cell, he felt he should not remain here while Guibert was Prior. He would collect his bowl and his staff, and leave. Perhaps he could go further west, away from this city with its politics and felonies. He could not remain here.
At least, he reasoned as he took his leave of Robert and walked from the gates for the last time, at least he had been an agent for good. Guibert had lied, and at least John had been there to expose his untruth.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The watchmen outside Jordan le Bolle’s house had still seen no sign of the man, so Simon and Baldwin returned to the deanery with the Coroner.
Sir Peregrine was content to sit and listen to the story Baldwin told the Dean. There was little in it he had been aware of, and the telling made sense of other stories he had heard recently.
‘I can tell you much, I think, Dean. A lot of it is conjecture still, but most is based on what I have learned from people who know what has been happening: the matters of Gervase the merchant and Sir William of Hatherleigh being two cases.
‘This man Jordan is a committed felon, Dean. He is keen to steal what he can. For some time, I believe, he has been taking your cargoes and filching what he could. But people grew to realize what he was up to – especially Daniel, the sergeant. So Daniel had to be destroyed. Perhaps Jordan tried first to simply bribe him, but whatever else he was, I do not believe the sergeant was a felon, and taking money to close his eyes to an injustice would not have appealed to him. Not only that, but I think he saw it as a matter of honour that he should capture this man because what he was doing was harming the cathedral itself.
‘So Jordan decided to have him removed. However, he couldn’t simply dispose of one man alone and hope that it would leave him clear to continue with his pilfering. He thought to himself that it would be best if he were to distract the cathedral too. How to do that?
‘The man was nothing if not imaginative. Before ever he had arranged for Daniel’s death, he thought of setting up a dispute between the chapter and the friars. He knew, just as all the population of Exeter knows, that
the two houses were often at daggers drawn. It should be easy to create a dispute between them. And so it happened.
‘The merchant, Gervase, appeared in the city. A fool with his money, he was easily parted from it over some ales and gambling. Jordan could easily fix a series of games, at first to let Gervase win, and then, when he thought his luck was in, to fleece him of the lot. Every game he lost, until he owed Jordan a fortune.
‘Jordan told him to rest at the cathedral for a day or so and make good use of the chapter’s hospitality, and then claim that his money had been stolen there.’
‘The ungrateful … I shall have him arrested,’ the Dean muttered.
‘He has left the city already. I should permit him to go and count yourself fortunate that so few people think of such schemes!’ Baldwin said with a chuckle. ‘After all, he cost you nothing, and he has himself been robbed, if by another person.’
‘Why did Jordan do this?’
‘It permitted him to raise doubts in the minds of others. And he made use of the best means of telling people. He knew how the friars had been shamed by the discovery that one of their brethren had stolen money; he decided to show them that the cathedral had a thief too. The friars were delighted to think that they had a means of exacting revenge on the cathedral, and went about the city telling all their audiences that the cathedral was harbouring a felon. And then, when the cathedral went and took the body …’
‘That wasn’t his fault, I suppose?’ the Dean asked hopefully.
‘The Prior did say that he had mentioned the death of Sir William. It struck him how similar the situation was to the death of Sir Henry Ralegh twenty years ago, and he, I think, hoped that a hothead might commit a similar offence. And so it came to pass.’
The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) Page 30
