The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18)

by Michael Jecks

  There had been plenty of time to muse over his misfortune that day. He had gone to buy the damned saddle only because he wished to get to know the Potell family better, and introduce himself to their daughter Julia; instead he had hurt himself, scared Henry with talk of suing him, and probably petrified his wife Mabilla and the girl into the bargain! Udo had several times thought of going to the saddler’s house in the last days to put things right, but somehow he had never quite summoned the courage.

  This appeared a perfect time to talk to Henry. They were both away from home, there was no reminder of that disastrous day, and Udo could perhaps hint at his interest still in Henry’s daughter. Yes, that was surely the best approach.

  ‘I have not seen your delightful lady for some days.’

  Henry stiffened slightly. ‘I suppose your shoulder was too painful to be able to go out,’ he said drily.

  ‘Your physician was most competent. I have no complaints. He has mended me well.’

  Henry was still apparently reticent. His eyes, Udo noticed, kept flitting towards the Charnel Chapel.

  ‘Henry – Master Saddler – I should like to talk to you about a matter of delicacy.’

  ‘You mean to ruin me?’

  There was a depth of sadness in that question and in Henry’s eyes as he uttered those words which Udo felt compelled to ease. ‘Master Saddler, I have no intention of pursuing you. Any man can,’ he swallowed, ‘be unfortunate enough to have an accident. It was surely not your intention to see me hurled from my horse, so how could I prosecute you? That would be the act of a cruel man.’

  Henry appeared stunned. He stopped dead, and turned to Udo with an expression of complete bafflement. ‘You mean you won’t sue me?’

  ‘I have not instructed a pleader, no, and I shall not, I think. No, I believe that you and I should become friends.’

  ‘I’m sure that’d be good,’ Henry stammered. ‘But, how can I thank you?’

  Udo cleared his throat. ‘There is one way …’ he said hesitantly.

  Without realising that she was the subject of a discussion between Udo and her father, Julia wrapped a neckerchief about her shoulders and pulled it tighter as she walked into the hall. Her mother was already there, sitting at her favourite place on a stool before the table, near to the fire. Against the cool of the afternoon, she was wearing her cote-hardie and a blanket wrapped about her, but Julia was sure that it was not the draughts but the family’s straits that chilled Mabilla’s blood.

  ‘Mother, may I fetch you some wine?’

  Mabilla glanced up at her and gave a smile. ‘No, I am fine, dear. Just waiting for your father to return.’

  ‘Where has he gone?’

  ‘He has some business to attend to,’ Mabilla responded slowly.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with that odious man, then?’

  ‘You mean Master Udo?’

  ‘God, no, not him! That revolting old pensioner, Will. I hate him, Mother. He looks at me like a man staring at a piece of meat on the butcher’s slab. He has no compassion or sympathy for others. How could Father have grown to know him? And how can he let a fellow like that in the house?’

  ‘You shouldn’t speak of him like that,’ Mabilla countered, but without anger. ‘Your father knew Brother William a long time ago.’

  ‘I’ve never seen him before. It must have been a very long time ago that he left here.’

  ‘No matter. You should know your father better than to think that he would desert his friends just because they’ve been away for a long while.’

  ‘Will that German seek to ruin us, Mother?’ Julia said after a moment’s silence.

  ‘He may not, Daughter. Let us hope not.’

  ‘I had thought …’

  ‘Yes?’ Mabilla pressed.

  ‘The way that he stares at me in church … like a man besotted. And when he asked for the saddle, I felt he was considering making an offer for my hand,’ said Julia. She hadn’t broached the subject before with her mother, and now she could feel her cheeks flush as she spoke.

  Mabilla eyed her. ‘You mean you’d consider taking his hand? A man so very much older than you?’

  ‘He would be experienced of things that I’d know nothing about, and he’d be able to look after me.’

  ‘For a while, perhaps. But he would be certain to die, wouldn’t he? And then what would you do?’

  Julia lifted her chin. ‘I should have thought that he would be able to protect me after he had died. I would be able to count on at least a third part of his estate even if there was a child, according to the law, and he might settle more on me if he wished.’

  ‘I don’t think there is much likelihood of his wishing to settle anything on you now, dear,’ her mother said sadly. ‘I had no idea you guessed his intentions. I only realised myself when your father told me of the gift he brought for you and me. Then I wondered. We hardly know the man, after all, and there was no need for him to bring us cakes, but then it seemed so obvious.’ She sighed. ‘I shouldn’t think he’d want to treat us like that again.’

  ‘Perhaps …’ Julia was hesitant, running the fingers of her right hand over the top of the table, avoiding her mother’s eyes. ‘I mean, if I were to signal my interest to him, maybe he’d be prepared to think me a worthy prize? Instead of harming Father’s business, might he not consider taking me and a dowry?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Mabilla said, but now her voice was harder. ‘Yet think on this, Julia. If a man was to take you not from love or affection, but because you were a prize won at another man’s expense, or rather, you were another man’s prized possession, and he took you in compensation instead of another reward, just ask yourself how well he would treat such a woman. Would he cherish you, or merely own you like any other chattel? As your mother I should be wary of letting you enter a bargain of that nature, child.’

  It was all too true, Mabilla thought bitterly. A man could take a woman without care, without thinking. If he desired her, all too often he would have her, promising her love and adoration for life, and then disappear the moment any proof of his commitment was needed. Yes, Mabilla knew that well enough. Yet at least Julia was not keen on William. That would have been too demeaning and degrading to consider.

  ‘To live as the unloved wife of a wealthy man would not be so very hard,’ Julia continued. ‘Especially if the alternative was to live in dire poverty without a husband.’

  Mabilla bit back her anger. ‘You would be happier living in luxury with your father’s enemy, rather than remaining with us if that same man sued us and ruined us?’

  ‘I didn’t mean that!’

  ‘It’s what it sounded like.’

  ‘No, Mother.’ Julia took a deep breath. ‘I was only thinking that I should prefer to live with him as his wife if that was all it cost me to see you and Father living in comfort. If the alternative was to see you both impecunious, obviously I’d prefer to marry him.’

  ‘He would be taking you for the wrong reasons.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Julia said, and now she stood at the great window, pulling her neckerchief about her again in the draught. ‘He was keen enough before. I believe he loved me. Who can say how his heart is today? Perhaps he would still make me a good husband. It’s worth thinking about, isn’t it? I know how worried you are.’

  Her mother grunted, staring back into the flames, but Julia was sure that Mabilla would consider her words. It did make good sense, after all.

  ‘Well? And what is your feeling about this?’ Udo asked as he completed his offer.

  It had taken him time to work out the best means of presenting his suggestion. First, he had thought that he should perhaps threaten the man, saying that if he didn’t agree to let him take Julia, he would continue with suing him for damages – but on reflection, he felt that threatening a fellow in order to be able to take his daughter’s hand in marriage might not be the ideal approach. No, it was better simply to present himself as a keen groom to the daughter, and ask for her hand
as would any hopeful swain.

  Henry stood gazing at him blankly, and Udo felt a rising irritation that this man had not jumped at the opportunity of having him as son-in-law. He had made his case as best he could, after all. He was surely not such a poor catch, was he? This man’s gormless stare was insulting. He should be glad that Udo had not threatened him with ruin! Udo had gone to some lengths to explain that he had desired a wife for some while, and felt sure that Henry’s daughter would serve him well. She was young and desirable, Udo was old but wealthy. They would make a good match.

  Henry cleared his throat. ‘You are asking me for my daughter? You want to marry Julia?’

  ‘Of course. It would be a good arrangement, so I think.’

  ‘You expect me to sell my daughter to a foreigner?’

  ‘I have lived in Exeter for many years, Henry. I am more of an Exonian than many others who are members of the freedom.’

  ‘I would have to think very hard. And ask Julia.’

  ‘I am sure she would agree with your advice. She is a dutiful woman, I think.’

  ‘Perhaps she is, but I wouldn’t tell her to marry against her own feelings.’

  ‘This would be a good marriage for her. I can support her better than … than most.’

  ‘You mean, “Better than you, Henry Saddler”.’

  ‘No, not at all. I was thinking of the other men who could ask for her.’

  Henry chewed at his inner lip. He was unsure of the best course. Right now his mind was focused on the friar and what he must say to him in Confession. His eyes wandered over the Close until they reached the Charnel Chapel again.

  It was a foul little place. Henry could see again the anguish and naked terror in the Chaunter’s men’s eyes as the first fellow hared down to them screaming that it was an ambush, only to be struck down by the man at the Chaunter’s right hand. He fell without a further sound, tumbling down like a rag doll, by a small depression in the grass. Staring about him now, Henry could see that depression again. If he was of a melancholy disposition, he might have considered that it looked like a grave. Poor devil: to be slaughtered like that when all he was trying to do was save them all.

  ‘Come, now. I want your daughter. Will you not accept? I promise to make her happy, wealthy and wise.’

  ‘She’s not a piece of property to be bought and sold. She’s my flesh and blood.’

  ‘You are a stubborn man, Saddler. I expect you to persuade her, though, yes?’

  ‘I will not force her,’ Henry said, allowing a little testiness into his voice. This foreigner was persistent to the point of annoyance. There was a figure near the chapel, he saw, talking to the Annuellar. A tall, thoughtful man clad in a friar’s greyish-brown robes, his head concealed by a hood.

  ‘My God,’ he breathed. The figure was stooped, one hand ruined, a mere claw, yet he reminded Henry of …

  ‘I do not demand that you force her …’ Udo continued.

  Henry listened with only half an ear. The man’s clothing was worn and stained from many years of use, but there was something about him. Was he the man who had been attacked, who had been so dreadfully hurt during that night of blood? The friar with the terrible scars whom Henry had seen after leaving Joel’s house? It made the blood still in his veins. This was the man he must talk to! If no one else, that friar could give him absolution. If he could hear the confession of the man who had inflicted those dreadful wounds, Henry could be saved. Damn William, he thought. I will tell the truth at last!

  ‘Come! All I ask, then, is that you speak to her kindly about me. She must know I am wealthy. After all, you have been worried, I expect, that I would bring a suit against you.’

  Henry had not been listening. Now, suddenly coming to the present once more, he was surprised to realise that Udo was still talking. Then his surprise turned to anger as he absorbed Udo’s words. ‘So that is it! You mean, I would be better off if I sold her to you, rather than suffer the risk of you ruining me!’ Henry spat. ‘I would rather see her die a spinster or a nun, than force her into a marriage just because I was being blackmailed!’

  ‘I did not mean that,’ Udo stated firmly. His own temper was darkening.

  ‘Leave me! Sue me if you wish, but I won’t help you to steal my daughter just to save myself from your threats!’

  ‘I do not threaten. Listen to me, Master Saddler.’

  ‘Leave me alone, Germeyne! I have business with others.’

  ‘Damn you! If you don’t listen to me, man, I’ll destroy you!’ Udo bellowed as Henry stalked away. He watched as the saddler turned. Slowly and deliberately, Henry bit his thumb at him, and Udo felt the blood rush to his face with his anger as he registered that insult. ‘I’ll destroy you!’ he repeated, more loudly.

  Henry closed his eyes, shook his head in a brief, dismissive gesture, and stalked off.

  It was tempting to grab his sword’s hilt and hare after him, but Udo swallowed his anger. His face was mottled with his fury, but gradually as he calmed, he saw the other people standing and staring at him. There was a friar up ahead, a couple of labourers behind him, and a pair of the Cathedral’s canons. One he recognised as the Charnel Chapel’s Annuellar, who stood quivering with anger for a moment before launching himself at Udo with the speed and ferocity of a rock hurled from a trebuchet.

  ‘What is the meaning of this? You dare to threaten a man’s life here in the Cathedral Close, man? You will apologise to the Dean and Chapter of this holy place!’

  ‘I am leaving. It was not to upset you,’ Udo said with what hauteur he could muster.

  ‘Remember, fellow – I heard you threaten that man. All of us here did,’ the Annuellar said, waving a hand at the group nearby. ‘If any harm comes to Henry Potell, I shall see you brought to justice. I hope that is clear. You had best pray that he remains safe!’

  Janekyn, the porter at Fissand Gate, heard the curfew bell with enormous relief. ‘At last,’ he grunted to himself, shoving the heavy doors closed and dropping the huge timber plank into place in its slots.

  ‘That’s it! You want some wine, Paul?’ he asked.

  The young Annuellar from St Edward’s Chapel had arrived to help with the gates. As usual, he looked rather drawn, Janekyn thought. Maybe the fellow needed a break from his routines. He had the appearance of one who fasted too often and too rigorously. Janekyn often used to offer food and wine to the choristers who seemed to need it most, and tonight he was tempted to do the same for Paul.

  Paul shook his head. ‘I’m off to the calefactory. It’s bitter tonight.’

  ‘’Tis cold enough to freeze the marrow in your bones while you live,’ Janekyn agreed.

  Aye, it was ferociously cold, and the stars shining so merrily in the sky hinted that it wouldn’t get any warmer. The porter had often noticed that when the clouds were up there, they seemed to behave like a blanket over the world, keeping the area a little warmer, but that was a forlorn hope now.

  ‘Are you well?’ Janekyn asked gently as the Annuellar stood as though lost in thought.

  ‘Yes. I think so.’

  ‘What is it, then? Your face would curdle milk.’

  ‘Is it that obvious? Well, I’ll tell you. Earlier I saw the German arguing with Henry the Saddler. They were rowing about young Julia, I think.’

  ‘Udo wants her?’ Janekyn pulled the corners of his mouth down. ‘I can’t blame him. Who wouldn’t?’

  ‘When Henry parted from him, Udo said he’d ruin Henry – no, not that – he said he’d destroy him. I was quite angry to hear such words in the Close.’

  ‘Did Henry strike him or anything?’

  ‘No. He left soon afterwards, walking off with a friar – you know, that man with the terrible scars?’

  Janekyn nodded slowly. That description fitted only one person.

  As the youth left him, Janekyn finished the last of his chores. He set his brazier back in the middle of the floor, snuffed the three candles at his table, leaving only the one in his bone-windowe
d lantern, and tidied his room, unrolling his palliasse and spreading his blankets over it. He had a pottery vessel, which he now filled with hot water from the pot over his fire, stoppered it and put it amongst the bedding to keep it warm. Then he settled down with his last cup of wine, and sipped the hot drink.

  He had consumed only half when there was a splattering of gravel at his door, and a hasty banging. ‘Jan, come quickly!’ shouted a voice.

  Suspiciously he opened his door and peered outside. Recognising Paul, he demanded, ‘What are you doing back here?’

  ‘Help, Jan! Please come and help me!’

  ‘In God’s name, what is the matter, boy? I’m ready for my bed!’ Then his eyes widened as he saw the blood that clotted the boy’s hands and breast.

  ‘It’s Henry! He’s been murdered! Oh God, a murder in our Close! Jan, what can we do?’

  Chapter Seven

  Dean Alfred eyed the body unhappily. ‘Ahm – what was the man doing here, Stephen?’

  ‘If we knew that, Dean, we’d perhaps be able to guess why he was dead,’ the Treasurer commented with a degree of asperity.

  ‘But someone must have seen him come in. Who is he? He seems familiar.’

  ‘He’s the saddler from Smythen Street,’ Stephen said. He stared down at the body again, shaking his head. In God’s name, the last person who should be in a position of power was the Dean. If only the Bishop were here. The Dean had done well enough over the unpleasant matter of the murder of the glovemaker* some while ago, but this was a different affair, surely.

  The Dean stepped delicately around the body. ‘My heavens, but it is cold in here, isn’t it? This – ah – Charnel Chapel makes a man think of death just by feeling the chill.’

  Stephen glanced at him with distaste, then turned back to Janekyn. ‘Porter, the Annuellar found him here, did he?’

  ‘Yes, Treasurer. It was Paul here, wasn’t it, lad?’

  The fellow was not an impressive sight, shivering in the doorway, but Stephen couldn’t fault him for that. He had been given the shock of his life when he found Henry’s body. ‘Tell me again what happened.’