Gradually the intensity of Walter’s stare declined, and he nodded. ‘That is how we’ll know,’ he said. ‘When I have studied the man, I’ll be able to tell you whether he killed James or not. And when we know that, we’ll know what to do.’
Robinet agreed effusively. He believed his old comrade. No one would be able to endure that stare for very long. He had himself felt like a rabbit caught in a snare, being watched like that.
But then, he knew that Walter was a professional killer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Exeter Castle
Jen was in the bedroom, tidying and shaking out blankets and pillows, when it happened.
Afterwards there was only shock, utter, utter shock, that she could have behaved so, but at the time it was just natural.
She was there, in the bedroom, and she could see the side where Madam Alice slept, all neat, her slim body outlined in the dips and curves of the mattress. The other side was where he slept. The impression was broader, with the indentations of a masculine frame, and Jen stood looking down on it for a long while before she did it.
Bending, she put her nose to it, snuffing his strong, musky odour. She started at his pillow, and slowly, teasingly, drew her face down the bed, tormenting herself with the protracted investigation. That was where his neck would have lain; that where his breast began; there would be his upper belly; here where his middle belly rested … and this, this was where his groin lay. She sniffed long and hard, and then merely smelling him wasn’t enough and she had to do more. Placing her hands on the mattress reverentially, she allowed her face to touch the linen. She rested it there, feeling the thrill of being there, where he lay naked each night, until the excitement was too much and she had to do more. Rubbing her face in his scent made her quite light-headed, and she almost purred for sheer delight as she moved her cheek up and along like a cat in catmint. It was marvellous.
She climbed onto the bed, her body naturally resting in the outline of her master, eyes closed, dreaming that he was there under her, in her, and then there was a scream.
‘What are you doing there?’
Jen leaped from the bed, flustered, flushed, but not scared. ‘Mistress, I was cleaning in here.’
‘You were resting on my bed, you hussy!’ Lady Alice spat.
‘I haven’t finished,’ Jen said haughtily. This woman was soon to be giving up her place. She didn’t realise it yet, but her husband had fallen hopelessly in love with Jen. Jen knew it. Perhaps Jen should have been more compassionate, but it was not easy with a woman who was so foolish and didn’t give her husband the love he so richly deserved.
‘You are finished, wench! Fetch your belongings right now, and be gone! I will not have a lazy churl trying to sleep in my bed.’
‘It’s not yours, it’s the sheriff’s bed,’ Jen said.
Alice was silent a moment, but then the worst imaginable thing happened. She glanced from Jen to the bed with a small frown; her mouth fell open as she took in Jen’s disrespectful demeanour, and then she laughed aloud, long and hard.
‘You don’t! Surely you don’t think that my husband could desire you, do you? He is a great man, a knight, sheriff and representative of the king, and you think he could desire you, a scruffy little maidservant from the back of beyond? Child, you are more stupid than I had thought!’
‘I’ll finish here, then,’ Jen said with determination.
‘No. You will go. Now.’ All humour had left Alice’s face. Instead there was a steely firmness. ‘You are not wanted here any more.’
‘Your husband won’t have me leave him,’ Jen said.
‘Child, he won’t even notice you have gone,’ Alice said with conviction.
Jen had ignored that, and carried on with cleaning the bed, and after a few moments Alice had moved. For an instant, Jen thought that Alice would attack her, and she prepared herself to resist and defend herself, but then she realised that Alice had left the room.
It gave her a feeling of satisfaction to know that her mistress had given up the cause and fled the field. Victory here was definitely Jen’s. She pulled the pillow from her master’s side of the bed and drew it to her nose, inhaling deeply. So that was how his hair smelled: faintly acrid, but with a warmth under it, a little like a dog, she thought. Setting the pillow down, she pummelled it fiercely to make it plump and comfortable. The other pillow received a cursory shake. There was no point making Lady Alice’s side welcoming. She wasn’t welcome, and that was that. Perhaps she ought to spend more time on Lady Alice’s side, because the poor woman was soon to lose her husband, position, everything, but Jen couldn’t bring herself to do it. The crabbed old bitch was as vicious as any harpy from an alehouse, and she didn’t deserve any more than she already got. No, let her work on her bed herself if she wanted to. In time, perhaps she would be maidservant to Jen and Sir Matthew … but Jen would rather have someone kindly and friendly as a maid. Perhaps she could have Sarra as her personal servant? That would be much more fun.
‘Hey, you, Jen! What are you doing here?’
It was the master’s steward. He stood in the doorway with an anxious frown on his face. Jen smiled at him. ‘Making the bed, of course. What does it look like?’
‘I don’t care what it looks like, wench. You have to gather your things and go. I’ve already spoken to my lady Alice, and she tells me you are to leave. Get your stuff, or it’ll all be burned.’
‘I don’t think Sir Matthew will be pleased to hear that you’ve done this,’ Jen warned. ‘You should be more careful who you listen to.’
‘Sir Matthew? Child, I’ve just seen him. It was him ordered me to have you thrown out. Madam Alice had told him about you, and he wants you to go right away. Come, child, there is nothing for you here.’
Jen gaped, and fought hard, but the tears assaulted her cheeks as the import of the man’s words struck home. ‘No!’ she said, and then louder, ‘No!’
She ran from the room, almost knocking the steward over as she went, down the steep stairs to the ground, and thence into the hall, where she found the sheriff talking with two other men. Hurtling to him, she threw herself at his feet.
‘Your wife, she’s told me to leave!’
‘Get off me, woman! Christ’s bones, what is the matter with you? Are you mad?’
‘She wants to separate us, Matthew!’
There were few things in the world that scared Sir Matthew. In his life he had entered the lists and won some bouts to go with the many he had lost, but the memory of the buffeting never stopped him from trying again. He had faced the Scottish schiltroms, the mad Welsh, even some of the flower of French chivalry, while serving his lord the king, and he had never flinched. Not even at Bannockburn, when the arrows fell like rain and the men all shrieked as yard-long wands penetrated their mail and leather and pierced them, men and knights together, squealing like hogs in their death throes. No, he had not flinched, and his courage was a matter of pride to him.
But insanity was different. In war, a man could stand with his companions against any foe, safe in the knowledge that all must fall together if so much as one ran. All remained rooted to the spot. Yet just now, he would have fled from the room. There was something so appallingly terrifying about madness.
‘Take her away from me and throw her outside.’
‘Matthew, my love, what do you mean?’
‘Sweet Christ, just get her out of here, will you?’ he bawled at his steward, and a man at arms leaped forward to help. The two men gripped her arms and started to pull her towards the door, and yet, although the two were burly enough to control most, she managed somehow to wrest herself away from them, and flung herself at the sheriff once more. He shifted his legs away before she could grab them, but fast as he was, she caught hold of his rich tunic, and held it to her face, then to her throat.
‘Please, my darling, don’t send me from your side! I only ever wished for all that was good and right for you. Throw over the old harpy – you don’t truly love
her. It’s always been me. I’ve seen it in your eyes. You love me best. You know that. You mustn’t send me off and let her win. Our love will …’
‘Christ’s pain, will you not take this mad bitch away? Must I kill her myself?’
‘Don’t speak like that, Matthew, my love, my sweeting … let me just …’
He stood and sprang away from her. It was all the time the steward needed. He and the man at arms caught her arms again, and this time they were not going to let her fly from their grasp. They hauled her off, through the hall’s doors and into the yard. There she was pulled and thrown through the gateway into the city of Exeter itself.
‘If she tries to come back, you have my permission to kill the sow,’ the steward said to the gateman. ‘She’s mad. Completely mad. If she comes back, run her through.’
But Jen had no intention of running back. She had seen the look in Matthew’s eyes, and she knew it was not love. Fear, yes; incomprehension too. But not love. No reciprocal adoration such as she had so often thought she had seen there before. No, there was only revulsion. A loathing bordering on utter hatred.
Her life was over.
In the hall Sir Matthew wiped at his brow with a sleeve and blew out a long, nervous breath. ‘My God! As I hope to achieve life eternal, I swear I have never been more worried by a woman than I was then. She was quite insane. Did you see her? Telling me I must throw over my own dear wife for her? Christ Jesus!’
Robert Busse nodded, and glanced at his companion. ‘So you see what importance there is in being forearmed? If you make use of Richard Langatre’s skills, you will be better able to protect yourself from her. Make no mistake, that woman would need but a little prompting to take after you with a knife. I have seen it before, and I am sure that I will see it again. I only pray it will not be here and with your blood and gore open to the roadside. That would be a tragic end to one who has spent his life in service.’
‘Don’t overdo it,’ Sir Matthew growled. ‘I was born three and forty years ago, Brother Abbot, and I can tell when I am being cozened. You! Wizard! Tell me what it is that puts my life in danger.’
‘You expect me to summon a demon here, before your eyes? Do you not realise the preparation and effort that must be put into such a conjuration?’ Langatre said with feeling. ‘Dear God, as I live and breathe, I swear that such a service must be accompanied by the strictest fasting and prayer. Do you think such knowledge as I possess can be called upon at a moment’s notice?’
‘I thought you fellows could hold a demon in a ring, or have demons change their appearance into the mould of a cat so that they might be with you at all times,’ the sheriff asserted, trying to appear casual but quickly surveying the man’s ringless fingers.
‘Yes. However, I have no cat and, as you observe, no rings either. No, if you wish for my expertise, you will have to give me time to prepare. However, I should have thought that the young woman’s outburst just now proves that you already have enemies.’
‘One woman? Pah!’
‘One woman who enters the city and spreads the malicious story that you were after her fine young body and deflowered her here in the castle would be all that was needed to make a certain kind of youth wish to test himself against you. She would not lack for champions.’
‘Sweet Christ!’ Sheriff Matthew muttered. It was all too true. ‘You seem to have the ability to understand women better than men like me who’ve been married for years.’
‘I am fortunate that many of them wish for the advice that only a man of God like me can give,’ Langatre admitted.
‘Has my wife been to see you?’
Langatre hesitated only a moment. ‘Your wife would have no need of my services, I am sure.’
The sheriff peered at him closely. ‘Very well. I am convinced. You are free, but only if you swear that you will deal honourably with me. Understand? If I learn that you have been dishonest, I will have your lying tongue torn out and your throat cut. Clear?’
Exeter City
It was easy to find the place, and Robinet was about to walk to the door when his friend took his arm ungently and drew him away to the farther side of the street.
‘Are you absolutely without brains?’ he hissed. ‘If this is where the murderer is staying, we don’t actually want him to know we’re here, do we?’
Robinet nodded. ‘Er, no. So what are we doing here, then?’
‘Watching, old friend. Watching. So that if a man comes here whom we recognise, we can follow him, perhaps knock him down and call the hue and cry to have him attacked, or maybe see to it that he never rises again. Whatever strikes you as the best option at the time, I suppose. Whatever else, though, we want him, and that means we have to find him.’
‘Yes. Of course.’
It was while he had been a messenger that he had first met Walter. Back then Walter had been a dour, stolid character, with a black expression much of the time, but Newt had early on seen that there was another side to the man. He was entirely trustworthy, for one thing. Under the old king, and this one, he had been unswervingly loyal, and that was more than could be said for most of the king’s own household.
They had first met because Walter had been in Winchester, and Newt had been surprised to be sent to him with an urgent message. He found the man in a dark alehouse, a foul, noisome little place with nothing to recommend it, and as soon as the message was delivered Walter had read it and burned it at a nearby candle. Then he stood and left the room without a word. The fact that such a churlish fellow should be in receipt of messages from the king himself made him fascinating to a young cursor, and when they next met, this time at the king’s household while it was at Eltham, Robinet had been further impressed by the firm, unsmiling man. Others muttered darkly about him, but none dared to speak directly to insult him. There was a certain aura about him that dissuaded men from being too forthright in their criticism.
It was that which had made Robinet feel he ought to befriend the man. That and an aggressive ambition. A man who was so favoured by the king was a man whose friendship was worth fostering. Accordingly Newt sought him out, being so unsubtle in his methods that Walter was instantly on his guard. Then, one morning while walking out, Newt found himself grabbed from behind, a knife held at his throat, and a cold, ferocious voice demanding what he was after.
When he confessed, Walter was quiet for what felt, with that knife at his neck, like a very long time indeed, and then Newt grew aware that the knife was moving. It terrified him for a moment, until he realised that it was not drawing a line across his jugular, but wobbling as the holder laughed silently.
From that moment on, Walter appeared to look on Newt in the same way that a man might view a small pet dog. He was tolerated so long as he never made a mess. Then, as the two aged in the service of the king, Walter’s tolerance became a genuine affection, and it was reciprocated. The future Edward II himself once told Newt to be wary, that the man he was befriending was much more dangerous than he could ever know, but Newt was too sure of himself to be warned. He trusted his own judgement, and he had never had cause to regret it. Walter was his closest friend.
Now that the two men were retired from their past occupations, it was interesting to look back on their history. It gave a man more perspective, Newt thought.
Walter was certainly a most dangerous man. If ever a fellow wanted a lethal and resourceful opponent, Walter was the ideal. Newt had no interest in upsetting him or causing him grief, but he had seen others who had succeeded in exactly that, and generally they regretted it. Some of them for only a very short period.
Any king had need of a man like Walter. He was the ultimate control for the king over his population. Completely focused, Walter would ensure that the king’s most embarrassing problems were removed. When a man preached treachery, or threatened the king’s life in some other way, Walter would see to it that the annoyance was soon eradicated. There was nothing personal in it, and he did not kill all the king’s enemies. Often
there was no need if the target knew of Walter. Then all he needed to do was make it clear that the king had asked him to speak. That in itself was perfectly adequate for almost all situations and most men. However, there were occasions when more forceful arguments were required, and when they were, Walter was an expert with a dagger. He always said that it took only an inch or two of steel to silence for ever an irritating voice. Newt had no idea how many irritants had been stilled in that way by Walter, but he knew it was many tens over a career that lasted more than twenty years.
When he had been a cursor, eating at the king’s expense, he had always been well fed. No matter what else happened, the king’s messengers had to be given their fill of the best of all viands. They had been good days for him. For them both.
‘Now, I am proud of my pottage, but there’s no doubt that a little meat sets a man up for the day, is there? And just now, a bit of meat would be good. If there’s going to be some knocking about later, we’ll need our strength.’
Robinet couldn’t argue with that. For all that his belly was filled, he yet felt a little hungry, as though the pottage had been unnourishing, and the thought of a minced beef pie beneath his belt was most attractive.
‘One of us will have to stay.’
‘Aye. You want the head or the tail?’ Walter asked as he flipped a coin.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Exeter City
It was some little while later that Alice’s brother Maurice returned and stood eyeing the dilapidated building over the road with a frown of some perplexity.
If he was not outlawed, he would have already blown his horn and chased after the man, but not in his present situation: that would be suicidal. And yet he wanted to. It was rare that a man witnessed a robbery or murder, and for him, a man of noble birth, to watch and allow a felon to go free was at best galling.
The Malice of Unnatural Death: Page 25
