‘Nothing here at all,’ Simon noted. ‘He’s clearly run.’
‘And the gates are closed now,’ Sir Peregrine commented. ‘We should set off after him instantly … but it may be better to wait until morning.’
‘Far better,’ Baldwin said. ‘But it would be worthwhile to send to all the gates to ask whether a man answering his description has actually left the city today. Could you arrange for that, Steward?’
‘Of course.’
‘In the meantime, perhaps we should go and take our rest,’ Baldwin said. ‘We shall be awake early.’
Sir Peregrine smiled coldly at that. ‘I shall walk to the inn with you, Sir Baldwin. I am sure that we have much to discuss.’
Baldwin demurred, pointing out that Sir Peregrine had already been forced to ride a great distance that day, and suggested that they should all go to Sir Peregrine’s inn. Accordingly they left his address with the steward for any messages from the gates, and then made their way to the Blue Boar, where Sir Peregrine was staying.
In the low parlour at the middle of the inn, Sir Peregrine sat and motioned politely for the others to do likewise. ‘We have had our disputes in the past, but I am sure we can help each other now.’
‘I am interested to know how the Lord de Courtenay could release you from his side. Surely he relies on your advice, Sir Peregrine,’ Baldwin said disingenuously.
Sir Peregrine looked at him long and hard. ‘My Lord de Courtenay feels that other advisors could be more suitable for the present climate.’
‘Since the Despensers are now supreme?’
‘Precisely,’ Sir Peregrine said bitterly. ‘He feels that the Despensers are likely to be in power for some years, and he would prefer to keep his head on his shoulders for the time being, rather than risk having them parted by the executioner’s sword.’
‘I heard that Earl Thomas was hanged like a common felon,’ Baldwin noted.
‘A shocking punishment,’ Sir Peregrine nodded. He added drily, ‘And it led my Lord to decide that the advice of his most loyal advisor might be suspected as biasing him against the King, so that advisor must leave his household. I was told to go.’
‘Although you still owe him your fealty?’
‘Of course. That was to death. Still, I was forced to seek a new employment, and when I heard that this post was available, I thought that it must at least keep me occupied.’
Simon could understand that. A knight had many calls on his time, what with managing his lands, protecting his serfs and, most of all, seeking to serve his master. If his master did not want him at his side any more, that reduced his workload considerably. Since Sir Peregrine, he recalled, had no wife and had lost his only lover some years before, he was plainly at a loose end. Finding a job like that of Coroner would be a relief to a man with an active mind; as well as being lucrative to a fellow who was corrupt, he added to himself, glancing at the Coroner. Fortunately he was sure that Sir Peregrine was not that kind of man. The bannaret was honourable.
‘Does that mean you will no longer seek to persuade people to take a stand on one side or another?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I have no interest in doing so. In fact, I have been commanded not to do so by Lord de Courtenay,’ Sir Peregrine smiled.
‘In which case, let us discuss this strange series of murders,’ Baldwin said more happily. ‘Was there anything about Henry Saddler’s body which struck you?’
‘It was more a case of what didn’t strike me,’ Sir Peregrine said.
‘Oh? In what way?’
‘His hands weren’t bound, his head and face unmarked so far as I could see, and there was only the one blow. It showed that he trusted his attacker enough to turn his back on him, and that he was not captured and later killed, but simply taken, or jumped on, when he was unawares. That means it’s less likely a planned killing, more probably a spur of the moment attack.’
‘Perhaps. Unless someone sent a message – for example, inviting him to meet a third person in there, and only when he entered did he realise someone was already there – concealed behind the door, perhaps? – who leaped upon him as soon as it was shut?’
‘Possibly. This man Thomas could have been there on the scaffold, seen Henry enter the Close, followed after him until he entered the chapel, and then taken advantage of the situation and killed him.’
‘It seems like too much of a coincidence. Why should Henry have gone into the chapel in the first place?’
‘Thomas could have sent a message asking Henry to meet a man there. Perhaps he sent it in the name of William, since they knew each other.’
‘But why,’ Simon interrupted, ‘should he go to the chapel? Surely Henry would be unlikely to trust a man like William at the best of times, and entering a quiet charnel with a man you don’t trust would be folly.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘But it could have been a message in the name of someone whom Henry would have trusted. We can check later. As a hypothesis it works – Thomas invented a message, sent it, waited on his scaffold from where he could see all the entrances to the Close, and then, when Henry entered the Close, Thomas descended and either walked inside first, or hung about until Henry was inside. Then Thomas walked in, killed him and left again, went straight back to his ladder and got on with his work. The others there might not even have noticed his departure.’
‘What of the second killing?’ Sir Peregrine asked.
‘The case of the Friar, I confess, is strange. We think he died in the crypt,’ Baldwin said and explained his reasoning about the movement of the body.
‘That must mean that the body was moved to make it more conspicuous,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘After all, it would be safer not to move the friar when he was dead. Why run the risk of being caught in the act unless there was good reason? And what was Thomas’s motive to kill Henry?’
‘I do not know. My suspicion is, like yours, founded solely on the man’s sudden disappearance. Why kill the friar? Perhaps because Nicholas saw him kill Henry. And as for Henry – I cannot tell why that should have happened, unless there was a longstanding feud between them.’
‘What of the mason Saul?’ Simon asked.
Baldwin shook his head. ‘I can only assume that he was another man who knew Thomas.’
‘You mean that Saul recognised him from the past and threatened to disclose his identity?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.
‘I suppose so,’ Baldwin said. ‘Thomas may have feared the disclosure of his part in the murder of the Chaunter.’ He frowned. ‘Although dropping a stone on Saul’s head would be an unorthodox method of murder.’
‘But effective,’ Sir Peregrine said.
‘More lucky than effective, if he meant to murder,’ Baldwin commented.
Simon was still considering the motive. ‘Why would this Thomas suddenly fear recognition? The mason Saul was not a local man – so how could he have recognised Thomas? And Henry Saddler was an accomplice of his, so why should Thomas kill him? As for the friar – well, I suppose he could have seemed a threat, but what if we were right and Nicholas was himself one of the assassins? We thought he might have been in on the plot, didn’t we? What could have made him so uniquely dangerous to Thomas? Also, surely the saddler himself, or the joiner, or even the corrodian, would have the same motivation? I do not understand why Thomas should have decided to enter this killing spree.’
‘We may not understand until we have him in our hands and can question him,’ Sir Peregrine said.
A short while later, Baldwin and Simon decided to leave. As Baldwin said, they would need their sleep that night, if they were to rise early to help a posse seek the missing mason.
As they walked along the road, Simon threw Baldwin a look. ‘Were you persuaded by his protestations?’
Baldwin smiled. ‘Am I so transparent, Simon?’
‘Only to one who knows you, Baldwin!’
They were only a few scant yards from their own inn when they heard the scampering of feet, and Baldwin’s hand went to hi
s sword.
‘Easy, old friend, it’s only a lad,’ Simon said.
‘It is the sound of running steps; they always raise my hackles,’ Baldwin admitted. It was not only the noise and the reminder that even here in Exeter there were footpads, it was the dislocation he still felt – the feeling that he was farther apart from his wife than ever – and the curious menace he had sensed at the Charnel Chapel.
The boy hurried past them and went into their inn. There was a sudden calming of the noise of talking and laughter, and in it, they heard the boy calling for the Keeper of the King’s Peace.
Baldwin glanced at Simon, then pushed his way inside. ‘I am Sir Baldwin,’ he said. ‘I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace. What do you want, boy?’
‘It’s the man who killed my father – he’s tried to rob us, and we need someone to come and take him,’ Dan said, trying not to cry.
Udo had not enjoyed the talk with the Keeper of the King’s Peace and his companion. He was not used to such treatment from strangers, and the thought that the men could have been so suspicious of him was worrying. As an outsider, he knew full well the risks he took in remaining here in a foreign country. If there was to be guilt attached to any man, the population would rather pick a stranger than a local man.
He could ride that storm, he hoped, but what about the assertion that someone had heard Henry rejecting Udo’s offer of marriage? If that should get back to Julia, there could be only one course for her to take, which was to obey his last dying wish, surely? Udo must not let her learn of her father’s words.
So he had the two problems now: the matter of his own guilt being decided by his neighbours in preference to their selecting someone from among their own, and the fact that Julia might discover that her father had set his face against her marriage to Udo.
And the two men, the Keeper and his Bailiff, were the interfering cretins who had exposed him to these problems. He could grow to dislike them both.
Chapter Twenty
Thomas came to with his head feeling as if someone had dropped a mallet on it from the top of his own scaffolding. As soon as he had opened his eyes he had to snap them shut. The light was too bright.
Where the devil was he? Then he realised: he was still in Sara’s house. He was sitting with his back up against one of the two posts in the middle of the floor. The light came from a small tallow candle that smoked repellently over his left shoulder. His legs seemed to have gone to sleep, and he knew that he must move them. He had to get up and run from this place. Whoever had hit him could return at any time.
He tried to lift a hand to shield his face from the deadly beam of the candle, but his hand was stuck behind him. When he jerked his wrist, he felt the pain simultaneously in his palm as well as the wrist, and it was so sharp, it was like pulling against a razor. Giving a cry of pain, he started to topple to one side. To break his fall, he threw his other hand out, only to find that that too was securely bound. Cursing and sobbing, he slid to the side, his arms slowing his painful descent, until his head struck the packed earth of the floor, and he could lie there with the pain throbbing in both wrists, his heart pounding with fear and a feeling of sickness.
‘You wait there,’ came a harsh and unsympathetic voice. ‘You try and rob a poor widow, you deserve all you get.’
‘I haven’t tried to rob anyone,’ he protested, squirming to see who was talking. Peering over his shoulder, he saw that it was the woman, Jen, who had taken his wine on that first day when he brought news of Saul’s death. ‘Woman, why have you done this? I’ve never robbed anyone in my life!’
‘You robbed this family of their father and husband. I’d say that was robbery,’ she said equably. ‘’Tis a shame, too. You bought good wine,’ she added, smacking her lips.
‘Can I have a drink of something? My throat is parched.’
‘Be glad you’ve got one. The boy would have cut it as soon as look at you. You’re lucky I saved you and only sent him for the crowner.’
‘The crowner?’ he repeated dully. If the Coroner was on his way, there was little point in struggling. He was dead already – just like his father. He too would die on the scaffold and be displayed at the Southern Gate. Not for his own crimes, but like his father, for those of other men. ‘Come on, maid, it can’t hurt anyone to let me have a mouthful of water, can it? I’m dying of thirst here.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have come here to take her money, should you?’
‘I didn’t! I left her my money to try to help her!’
‘I found you in here and clobbered your head with a stick, so don’t lie to me,’ she snapped.
‘I’d taken the pennies from my purse to give to her,’ he said with resignation, knowing she wouldn’t believe him. ‘I felt guilty about her man’s death, and I wanted to give her something to help her get by. I was going to leave the city and find somewhere else to work.’
‘They fired you, then?’ she cackled. ‘Not surprised, if all you can do is kill off their other workers.’
‘I …’
Thomas was quiet as a shadow slipped in through the door. In sudden fear he recognised the quick movements of Sara’s son, Dan. He couldn’t see the boy because the door was behind him, but the shadow was terrifying, the boy’s shape deformed and sly as it moved about the room until Thomas could see him. He saw the hatred in the lad’s eyes: the fellow would draw his little pocket-knife at the first opportunity.
‘Well, Master Thomas, I think you would have been better served to have waited for us at the Cathedral, rather than trying this frankly unorthodox approach to gaining our attention.’
‘Is that the Keeper?’ Thomas demanded. He was scared still, but less so by the looming shadow that now appeared in front of him.
‘Lad, cut those thongs,’ Baldwin ordered, walking around in front of the man and squatting. ‘Now, Thomas, you are held under my authority and we are going to take you back to the Cathedral to the Bishop’s gaol. When we are there, we are going to ask you some questions, and this time I want the truth from you!’
Thomas let his head hang. ‘I will tell you everything.’
Matthew was surprised to be called to the Treasurer’s hall so late in the afternoon, and he hurried there as soon as the summons came. As the Warden of the Fabric Rolls, he was largely responsible for the new Cathedral as it was building, and if the Treasurer had found a problem with his calculations or book-keeping, he wanted to know about it as soon as possible. It was the one thing about his job that constantly preyed on his mind, this fear that one day there would be a false calculation found in his work.
It wasn’t very likely, of course. Most men, whether clerks or not, found it difficult to add and subtract the figures which had been passed down from antiquity by the Romans along with their venerable script for reading and writing. No man could argue that the Romans were not the most marvellous race of men so far created by God. They had built wonderful buildings, invented waterways and roads, and left a legacy of learning which was superior to any other civilisation.
‘You called for me?’
The Treasurer’s house was one of the smaller ones on the canons’ street. It fronted the Exchequer, and suited the modest requirements of the man who was, after all, one of the most powerful men in the Cathedral.
‘Yes, Matthew.’
He was looking old today, Matthew thought. Old and tired, like an apple left on the ground too long – not quite rotten to the core, but very close to it. He suddenly wondered whether the Treasurer would survive much longer. If he were to die, whom would the Dean select as his replacement from the members of the Choir? Surely it would be the man most attuned to the numbers which ruled the life of the Treasurer – the man who could understand the rolls and make the best of the money the Cathedral had allocated for this rebuilding. He suddenly felt a little light-headed.
‘This old affair of the murder of Chaunter Walter is springing up once more. It is regrettable, but there is little we can do to cover it all up if
it comes into the open. I wanted to warn you, Matthew. I know that the whole thing must be deeply distressing for you, but there is nothing I or the Dean can do to stop it, I fear. The dead saddler was certainly involved in the attack, and of course the friar was there.’
‘Yes, I remember. Poor Nicholas. I was at his side when he won that terrible wound,’ Matthew said incomprehendingly. ‘But I don’t …’
‘Of course,’ Stephen said. ‘I wasn’t in the Cathedral that night, but when I returned, you were still in a fever, and Nicholas was at death’s door.’
Matthew nodded. It was odd how many men had apparently been out of Exeter that night. The Vicar of Ottery St Mary, for example, had been out of the Close; so had the Vicar of Heavitree. Both were later found guilty of being there at the murder, of course, and they’d paid heavily for their crime in the Bishop’s gaol.
Still, he told himself, there was no point raking up old suspicions. No one really wanted to go into the matter again.
‘If it were possible to ask these two men to hold their investigation, I should do so,’ Stephen said quietly, gazing up at the cross that hung on his wall above the screens passage.
Matthew found his manner disquieting, but then he told himself again that it must surely be Stephen’s great age. The man was exhausted, but he must carry on until he collapsed. That was the sort of man he was.
And then a more unnerving idea came to him: perhaps the Treasurer had been one of the men attacking – it might even have been him who knocked Matthew down on the night he so nearly died. A man who had done that would later make amends in any way he might. He could take a novice into his own department and see to it that he was well and carefully trained and nurtured, so that he would himself become indispensable.
The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18) Page 28
