Ralph had been watching him, and now he asked whether Sir Peregrine was feeling up to the chase.
‘I shall kill him,’ Sir Peregrine swore, and with those words he reached up to hammer on the door.
‘Let me. There is a signal.’
Sir Peregrine watched as he tapped three times loudly, then twice more quietly. There was a muttering and complaining from inside, and then the door was opened a crack.
‘Master Porter?’ Ralph said, speaking quietly. ‘I wish to get to the brothel. Could you open the gate for me?’
‘There’re enough already. It’s late. They probably won’t let you in anyway. Go home to your bed and leave me to go to mine!’ the surly old man grumbled.
Behind him Ralph heard steel ring and then the knight’s sword was thrust past him through the door’s gap.
‘Open now,’ Sir Peregrine rasped unnecessarily. The porter had already fallen back with a cry of shock.
‘What do you want with me?’ the fellow whined when they were in his parlour. He had his hands clasped as though in supplication, but Sir Peregrine was in no mood to listen and ease his mind.
‘Jordan le Bolle. Has he been here tonight?’
The porter shifted uneasily. ‘Who?’
The sword’s point rose and touched his throat. ‘He has …’ Sir Peregrine coughed to smother the sob that stood poised in his breast. Angrily he pressed the point forward, forcing the porter back to the wall. ‘He has murdered three at least, and now a fourth,’ he hissed. ‘If you wish to protect him, say so. He killed Daniel Austyn, and now Daniel’s wife is dying because of him.’
Ralph could see that this was not a crime that would overly perturb the porter. ‘It was Jordan who cut Anne and made her commit suicide, and he killed a girl this morning, too,’ he snapped. ‘You remember them? Do you want to protect him now?’
‘It was him did Anne and Mags?’ the porter said, and he paled. Then his expression hardened. ‘That bastard! He said he was avenging her! He’s gone to the brothel again. You’ll catch him soon enough. He’s not in a hurry. Said a footpad had caught him, gave him a big wound in his belly.’
Without waiting to hear more, the two men ran through the wicket as he opened it.
Above them the stars were bright spots in the deep purple sky. A pair of silken clouds floated past slowly, and in the pale light all appeared silver and shining, as though the soil itself was made of steel. Puddles glimmered like pools of quicksilver, but Ralph paid them no attention. He hurried on, ignoring the pain that started in his belly and grew to a stitch in his side. All he knew was that Jordan was trying to return to the brothel where he had already killed.
The building rose up before them in the gloom, and Ralph had to slow to catch his breath. There was no sign of their quarry, and he peered about him with a sudden alarm. It was so quiet and peaceful, it was hard to believe that anyone could be here, and yet Jordan was, somewhere.
Sir Peregrine was gripped by the same conviction. The man was somewhere nearby, and they both needed to tread carefully. He had shown himself a capable, astute fighter, more than competent at killing even a strong, powerful fellow like Daniel. They had to be cautious.
And then Ralph heard the scream, and it felt like a bolt lancing through his head.
‘Betsy!’
Baldwin and Simon hammered on the door and roared to Reginald to open it. There was no response for some while, and then it burst open. Reginald was in the doorway, pale, shaking with the reaction. ‘Thank God! Thank God!’
‘Where is he?’ Simon demanded.
‘He came here, and tried to break in – but he left a few minutes ago, I think. There’s been no sign of him. He was bashing at the door to knock it down,’ Reg explained as he led the way through the house. He took them to the rear chamber, and pointed at the secret door. It still had the cupboard pushed in front of it. ‘I put that there to stop him getting in.’
‘Mistress,’ Baldwin said. ‘It seems you are everywhere; whenever I arrive, you are there already today!’
Simon hadn’t noticed her sitting on a stool by the door wrapped in a blanket. She lifted her chin, ignoring his sarcasm. ‘My husband didn’t get in. He tried, but we didn’t let him.’
‘He would take adultery seriously, I suppose,’ Baldwin agreed with a cynicism that surprised Simon. ‘Where would he go?’
‘His options are few,’ Reg said, watching as the men pulled the cupboard aside and peered into the yard. ‘He can’t go home, and he isn’t here, so I suppose all he could do would be to go to the brothel or find a boat to escape.’
There was a large bench lying on the ground, its surface covered in bloody hand prints. Simon saw that there were corresponding dents on the door itself, which showed that the bench had been used as a battering ram. ‘Jordan tried to break in and gave up.’
‘There were men outside. I think he grew nervous that he’d be caught,’ Mazeline said.
‘Why did he try to break in so forcefully? Did he know you were here?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I don’t know, nor do I care. I hate him! He’s a murderer and loathsome! I only hope you catch him and kill him soon!’
‘Which we shall,’ Baldwin said. ‘Simon, he’s not here. He can’t get to the brothel at night with the gate shut, so …’
Reg gaped unhappily. ‘You can’t just leave us! What if he comes back here?’
Baldwin looked at him. ‘What if he does?’
‘He’s a murderer, man! I’ve seen him …’
‘What?’ Baldwin snapped. ‘Speak, or we’ll leave you here alone.’
‘I saw him murder Mick, one of his panders. He scarred Anne, too. I saw him do both. And others.’
‘You could have told us this before,’ Simon said.
‘He would have killed us too,’ Mazeline said. ‘What, would you believe Reg’s word against those of others? Jordan has many men who will speak for him when he pays them enough!’
‘What else?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’
Reg hung his head miserably. He was rent in two: a part of him wanted to confess to all he knew of Jordan, but another part was reluctant – Jordan’s vengeance would be dreadful if he found a means to exact it.
Baldwin set his jaw. ‘He’s killed again tonight. You know that? He’s murdered Estmund Webber, and mortally wounded Juliana, Daniel’s widow. How many more must die for your weakness?’
It was enough. Reg told himself that Jordan must be hanged if he was guilty of so many more crimes. ‘I’ll tell all! He told me to kill Daniel, offered me money to do it …’
‘Did you?’
‘No! I can’t murder in cold blood. I was there that night, trying to steel myself, but while I waited outside, Est pelted out and nearly knocked me down. It petrified me, and I had to return home. I was terrified that Jordan would hurt me for being so weak, but then I heard that Daniel was dead, and then Jordan paid me so I thought I should just keep quiet. But then last night Jordan told me he wanted the women dead too, and Daniel’s children, and … well, I told him he’d have to do it himself. I said I wouldn’t hurt women and children. It left him in a dreadful rage. I thought he would kill me!’
Baldwin looked at him as a man might view a rat’s corpse. ‘You had best lock your doors after us. I will send men to guard you later, mistress.’
‘What about me?’ Reg demanded. ‘He’ll kill me if he finds me.’
‘I don’t see that is any concern of mine,’ Baldwin said coldly. ‘You should pray that we find him first.’
‘He’ll be at the brothel, then.’
‘How can he get there?’ Simon scoffed.
‘Knock on the porter’s door, three times hard, twice soft. The porter has been paid for years to let people in or out to visit the brothel. How else would men get to it, or get home after their visits?’
‘Good,’ Baldwin said. ‘We’ll go and see whether you’re right or not.’
‘What about us?’
Bal
dwin looked at him. ‘I feel sure that you will be safe enough – if you have told us the truth about where he might have gone. Perhaps you should pray that you are right.’
Jordan sniffed and sucked his hand where the bitch had bitten into it. It was the fleshy part of his palm, and there was a ring of tooth-marks in it now. He had to clench it to stop the stinging.
At the same time his belly was aching more and more with every passing minute. It wasn’t bleeding all over him now, but there was more pain than simple dull thudding, as there had been. He was beginning to wonder whether the wound was worse than he had thought.
‘Betsy, get me some ale,’ he said.
The place was quiet now, with just a couple of rooms rattling to the tune of their occupants’ jigs. Mostly the clients were asleep, drunk and considerably poorer, if Jordan’s men had done their jobs properly. The gambling rooms always made a fortune for him, and it cost little to replenish the stocks of fighting cocks every evening. There were some farmers near Bishop’s Clyst who were always training up cocks for the ring.
Jordan sat at the table, still studying his hand. When Betsy put the jug at his side he didn’t look at her. The bitch had screamed when he pushed the door wide; it had taken a punch with all his body’s weight behind it to silence the stupid strumpet. She should have known he didn’t want noise at this time of night. What was the matter with the wenches in this place? None of them seemed to understand anything.
God, but his belly was sore. It felt as though he had inhaled flames when he took a deep breath. Betsy was wandering about the place with a look of dread on her face. He watched her a moment or two, then snapped, ‘Sit down! In God’s name, I can’t think with you wandering about like that! Sit down, bitch!’
She did as she was told, her hands in her lap, head hanging.
He would kill her later. It’d be good to remove her. He’d never liked her, she was just a competent whore and mistress of whores, that was all. But now he was going to have to escape from here with as much money as he could … and what about Jane? He couldn’t leave her behind, could he? It would be appalling to desert her. She’d be raised by her mother, the traitorous bitch. Shit, if he’d only thought, he could have fetched Jane first, before coming down here … he would have to do something. Fetch her here and take her with him when he left in the morning. Had to find a ship, too. There must be one somewhere. Perhaps he could take one himself, just a small boat, take it down to the coast, and there buy a berth on a ship bound for London or Bordeaux? If he did, perhaps he shouldn’t kill Betsy yet. She could go with him. Pretend she was his wife, and set up a new brothel in whatever town he took her to. There must be places all over the King’s lands in France that would want to have a decent brothel.
But he couldn’t leave Exeter without Jane. Christ alone knew what would happen to her if he left her … he must get a message to her, have her brought here …
‘I want a boy to go to the city,’ he said.
Juliana could feel the warmth leaving her body. Beside her, gripping her left hand, the priest was mumbling his foreign words, and her right was held in both of Cecilia’s. Juliana tried to lift her head to kiss her daughter one last time, but the effort was too great. The muscles of her throat wouldn’t obey her commands any more. As her vision clouded, she closed her eyes to blink away the tears, but it helped only a little, and she felt herself start to shake all over, her feet trembling, her teeth rattling.
Agnes bent and kissed her on the mouth. ‘My sister, I am so sorry. It’s all my fault!’
She could feel the drops falling on her cheeks, but Juliana only noted them with mild interest. She wanted to tell Agnes that she loved her, that she always had loved her, that she should find a decent man, a fellow like the Coroner, and that she didn’t blame her for seeking a little joy and happiness in her life. How could she, when she had been blessed with a wonderful husband and her precious children?
She adored her children. The only sadness was having to leave them.
With the very last ounce of energy in her body, she clenched her hand and squeezed Cecily, whispering, ‘I … love … both …’
And then she gasped and felt an odd sinking sensation, as though her body was falling through the floor and into a deep darkness.
Ralph and Sir Peregrine stood and stared at the door.
‘With just your sword, I would be unhappy to attempt to launch an attack on the place,’ Ralph said.
‘With just you behind me, so would I,’ the Coroner grunted. He was chewing at his inner cheeks, his hand clenching and twisting at the hilt of his sword. ‘There could be any number of men in there.’
Ralph was about to respond when a young lad appeared round the corner of the house and set off towards them at a trot. ‘You! Boy! Where are you going at this time of night?’
‘That’s my business!’
Sir Peregrine chuckled unpleasantly. ‘I am the King’s Coroner, boy, and I’ll have you whipped if you like,’ he said, moving forward, his sword’s point ready.
Ralph was worried about the Coroner. He appeared to be losing control of his emotions. His eyes were wild and staring, his complexion strange and pale. He looked like a man who was ready to throw himself to his own doom. All that he valued and appreciated was torn apart already. He had nothing to live for.
To Ralph’s eye the lad looked rebellious, but Sir Peregrine and he were blocking the path. The boy clearly did not realize his danger, because he looked at Sir Peregrine and spat at his boots, shrugging with bad grace. ‘So thrash me.’
Sir Peregrine growled, a low, feral sound that made Ralph’s hackles rise. He moved forward slowly as though he was going to tear the lad apart with his bare hands, but before he could grab him, Ralph took the lad’s arm. He pinched the hair at his temple and twisted it, lifting it high so the boy had to stand on tiptoes, squealing with the pain.
‘Piss on us, laddie, and I’ll pull your hair out by the sodding roots,’ Ralph hissed malevolently, peering into his eyes. ‘One handful at a time. You understand me? I’ll give you anguish the like of which you’ve never dreamed! Tell us where you’re going and why!’
‘It’s Jordan. He told me to go to his daughter and bring her to him in the morning!’ the boy said hurriedly, eyes squeezed tight with the pain.
‘Where is he now?’
‘In Betsy’s room … out the back. The bathing room.’
‘Good. Go!’
Ralph discarded the lad and set his shoulders resolutely. ‘Let’s fetch him out.’
Sir Peregrine followed him round the side of the brothel, and in through a gate in the low wall. Ralph walked among the flower beds and vegetables, knowing the way perfectly, and then stepped silently along the path that led from the cross passage to the lean-to sheds. At one door, he stopped, and was about to motion Sir Peregrine forward when it suddenly opened. Betsy was there in the doorway, and seeing the man standing there she dropped her jug and screamed.
Ralph reached in and grabbed her arm, yanking her forward, out of the room, then tripped and fell over her. Sir Peregrine rushed at the door and entered, only to be struck by a heavy pot as he crossed the threshold. He fell to his knees, but kept his grip on his sword.
Seeing him fall, Ralph was taken with a maddened rage. He leaped up and sprang into the room. Jordan had his pot raised to hit Sir Peregrine again when Ralph darted in. He pushed Jordan in the face, unsettling him, so that he fell back on his rump, and then Ralph rushed away before he could be hit. The pot was hurled at him, and he ducked just in time; it clipped his shoulder and spun away to the wall where it smashed to pieces.
Jordan clambered to his feet and ran to the table where his knife lay. Ralph saw in a flash that Jordan must reach it before he could, and he saw that Sir Peregrine was befuddled. There was no time for anything else; Ralph reached behind him. He found something, another heavy pot, and hurled it just as Jordan took hold of the knife. The pot missed his head, but it smashed on the table, and the liquid inside b
urst out, drenching his breast and belly, and filling the room with the smell of lye.
Smiling, Jordan waved the knife at him. ‘You thought to brain me, little leech? I told you yesterday, didn’t I? Don’t piss with men who’re stronger and richer than you. I could break you in two right now, right here, with my bare hands. You’re lucky that I have a knife and little time! It means I’ll have to be faster than I’d have liked!’
He approached Ralph, baring his teeth with the sudden throbbing agony as the caustic lye solution burned at his belly wound. ‘Christ’s ballocks, that hurt, you bastard!’ he spat. ‘Jesus, that hurt! I’m going to cut out your heart for that!’
Ralph slipped on the damp floor, scrabbling for anything that could be hurled or used to stab, blind, maim, but all he could find were more jugs. He threw the first, and Jordan ducked away without pausing in his advance. Then Ralph had an idea. He threw the liquid from the second, seeing it soak into Jordan’s shirt, then hurled the jug with all his might. It missed again as Jordan moved away from it, and then Ralph threw the last, and succeeded.
The liquid went all over Jordan’s face and he blinked, then winced. Wiping at his eyes with a wetted hand, he rubbed the strong solution into them, and while he stood, screaming with the burning, Ralph rushed past him, snatched up Sir Peregrine’s sword, and ran it through Jordan’s back.
He shrieked with rage and agony, and while still spitted on the blade, tried to spin on his heel to face Ralph. His momentum forced the blade to carve his flesh, opening a massive gash. He screamed in maddened ferocity, and spun again, wrenching the sword from Ralph’s grasp, half falling against the table, his eyes fixed balefully on Ralph’s. Coughing, he brought up blood, black in the darkness, and Ralph saw how he looked at his hand when he had wiped it away. It looked like the devil’s vomit. Jordan’s eyes were emptying in that strange way that Ralph had seen before, as passion and anger and feeling all leached away with his blood, and then he seemed to pull himself together.
With a last roar of defiance, he launched himself at Ralph again, and Ralph could not move aside in time. The dying felon caught his sleeve and pulled Ralph towards him, his teeth bared insanely.
The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) Page 34
