The Malice of Unnatural Death:

by Michael Jecks

  He had been here, hoping to see something of Alice again, when he saw the furtive-looking man stand at the way to the rear of the building. Maurice’s attention was taken immediately as the fellow sidled down some stairs which appeared to lead down into the undercroft, only to disappear in the dark.

  Maurice was not the only man who had noticed him. Only a short while afterwards he saw another man, cloaked and hooded against the cold, armed with a good staff, move to the top of the stairs and stare down. He descended quickly enough, and Maurice glanced about him, satisfied that the thief – he must be a draw-latch because from his demeanour he could have had no legitimate business down there – would soon be caught.

  For a little while he waited to hear the inevitable sounds of arrest, the blasts of a horn or the hoarse demand for assistance, but to his surprise there was nothing. Instead he saw, after some time had passed, the second man reappear and set off briskly towards an alley.

  Maurice watched him for a moment or two, torn between the undercroft and the hurriedly departing man, and then, his interest piqued, he set off after him.

  The alley was narrow and dingy, but at least there was less breeze. In Stepecote Street the wind whistled about a man and drew all heat from his body, or so it seemed. Here in the darkened alley, Maurice felt warmer. The buildings reached out overhead and almost touched, and there were many little corners and narrowings, so he kept losing sight of the man, but then, as he came to a wider stretch, he caught sight of him again a short distance away. The man drew off his cloak and let it drop to the floor. Then he pulled off his surcoat and stared at it as though with revulsion, before balling the cloth and using it to wipe at his arms and feet. He dropped it into the cloak and wrapped it up tightly, before throwing them over into a corner and striding away.

  Maurice waited until he was gone, then trotted to the clothing where it lay. He unwrapped the cloak and felt the stickiness of the blood at the same time as his nostrils warned him. Quickly he drew his fingers away.

  He could not remain here with that incriminating evidence. Turning, he hurriedly walked back to the street. There, he could not help but notice that there was no shouting or calling. The hue and cry was unaware of the crime.

  And then, as he stared about him, he saw another figure come back up the stairs, glance about him and cross the road with slow, pensive steps.

  Maurice watched with a frown, then leaned against a wall to watch. He had no idea what was happening here, but he was intrigued enough to risk staying and seeing what happened.

  Baldwin and Simon met the coroner a short way from the Palace Gate, and all three turned south towards the great city gate and Will Skinner’s house.

  His wife was there, sitting on their stool at the table. ‘What do you want here again?’

  ‘Where is your husband?’ the coroner demanded.

  ‘Fetching food. What do you want with him?’

  ‘We have questions for him. How long will he be?’

  ‘Not long. Not long.’

  She was as good as her word because very soon there was the tramp of feet outside, and the door opened. In the doorway stood Will Skinner, and he shot a look at his wife, then stared at the three men. To Simon it looked as though the older man shrivelled at the sight of them, and he felt a certain sympathy for him. He was old, weary, working ridiculous hours in the attempt to earn some money, and now he was being questioned by three officers as though he was himself a suspect in their enquiry. Which Simon supposed he was, if an unlikely one.

  ‘Skinner,’ Baldwin said, ‘I want you to tell us again what happened on the night you found the first body.’

  ‘Why? Do you think he lied to us all?’ his wife cackled.

  ‘There, Margie, my love, be still,’ Will said. He tried to pat her hand, but she snatched it away, her eyes blazing with hatred.

  It had been the same every day since that terrible one when he had got home in time to see the walls collapse. Even from the road the heat had been appalling, and he had felt as though his brows were going to be scorched away. It was a scene from hell. Margie had done all she could, running inside to try to rescue the children, because as the fire took hold they could be heard inside, screaming for help. But no one could get near them. By the time Will got there, thank Christ for His mercy, the screams had already been stilled. If he had heard his little children pleading for help and rescue, he wasn’t sure that his mind could have coped with the strain.

  Just as Margie’s hadn’t.

  ‘I was there in the lane that night. I often stop there, just to look at my house.’ And to pray for my dead children, he added to himself. ‘While I was there, I saw the man lying on the ground. I thought he had a great cloth about his neck. It looked like it. But when I approached him, I saw that it was blood. So much blood from one man … it was terrible.’

  ‘And no surprise,’ his wife added.

  ‘Why would it be no surprise, woman?’ the coroner pressed her.

  ‘Because in a place like that, where God could let my little babies burn to death, any man is likely to be murdered. If the sweet innocents were killed, why not an older man whose life is full of sin and corruption?’ she wailed, and now she had her arms wrapped about her misshapen torso, and was rocking back and forth, her eyes fixed on the distance – or perhaps the past.

  The coroner cleared his throat and, unusually for him, appeared to be struck with shyness in the face of her grief. ‘Perhaps that is so,’ he allowed. ‘But for now, I need to deal with the actual agent of the man’s death.’

  ‘I told you before: I saw no one. But I did see that strange thing earlier. That was when I should have gone down the alley, but when that thing became a cat and walked up to me like a demon stalking a soul, I fled. I am sorry, but the thought of standing there with that creature staring at me was too terrifying. That is why I only went down the lane later.’

  ‘So you returned on your rounds,’ Baldwin said, listening with a glower of concentration fixed to his face.

  ‘Yes. I knew I had to go there again, and this time when I stood at the top of the alley I saw nothing. The cat was gone, and so was the shape I thought I’d seen. I was very fearful, masters, but I can’t afford to lose my wage as watchman. I entered the alley and until I reached my old house there was nothing to make me scared.’

  ‘You told me that the shape and the cat were things you saw on the next night, when you found the body of the king’s messenger. Why did you lie?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t think it mattered that much, and the things were still in my mind all that night, and since then too. It preys on me, sir. I cannot help it, it’s just always there. I am scared that some night I’ll be there outside my children’s death place, and I will be struck down too … oh, God, I wish it might happen soon!’

  He collapsed, his hands going to his face as the tears ran down both cheeks and his voice faltered. Baldwin sucked at his teeth to watch the display of grief. He had known loss himself, and he could feel compassion for a man who had lost so much, but then he caught sight of the man’s wife, and had to look away.

  The woman’s face showed only fierce, brutal glee at her man’s suffering.

  Exeter Castle

  Lady Alice had been feeling rather light-headed and uneasy since the little hussy’s departure, although, to be fair, she had been up until late the night before. It was better to think that her sense of subtle dislocation was due to the deprivation of sleep than to the foolish behaviour of one silly chit of a girl.

  Yet for all her inward protestations of calmness and the fact that she had not been upset in the least by the servant’s sudden display of lunacy, there was a small part of her that felt an unreasonable anxiety.

  Lady Alice had floated serenely through life. Nothing that she had ever needed or desired had ever been withheld from her, and she had the knowledge that at all times she need only mention a whim and it would be fulfilled. She was enormously fortunate, and sometimes that sense of good fortun
e could leave her with this little – well, doubt.

  She knew full well that she was considered a beauty. The admiring glances of men followed her like the inevitable tribute due a queen, and she was aware of the reaction of men to her features and body without being tempted by any. She was content with her match. No, more than that … she could happily state that she was very fond of her lord. And he did all he could for her. She was fully aware of that. He had raised himself from a position of near poverty as a mere rural knight into this post of power and influence by his assiduous political negotiating.

  The first rung on the ladder had been his acceptance as a knight of the shire when parliament had met some years ago. At the time she had thought little enough of his sudden elevation, but after his return she had realised how much it could help them. He had been careful and cautious, measuring the influence of others, assessing the strengths and weaknesses of the different groupings, before coming to the conclusion that John of Lancaster was weak and incompetent. He would not challenge the king in any serious manner. No, Lancaster was a petty, jealous man, driven by trivial complaints into a ridiculous corner from which he could not retreat. As soon as he returned from that parliament, her Matthew had told her that he would not support him, but instead would turn his loyalty to the Despensers, father and son, because he thought that they were ruthless enough to command the respect of all.

  And so it had come to pass. Whereas the other men in parliament were shown to be cretins or callow, the Despensers soon managed to acquire all authority under the king and with the king’s own support. They began their long government of tyranny, taking all that they desired from those who did not give them their full backing, and some of those who were more fulsome in their praise and support were rewarded. As was Sir Matthew.

  Lady Alice had no care for politics. Hers was a world of calmness, secluded from the rude work with which men must occupy themselves, although it was true that she was concerned on occasion when she heard of those whom the Despensers had deprived of lands, wealth – or life itself. Yet when she had met Sir Hugh le Despenser, the son, she had been entranced. There was an aura about him, a power that filled a room without effort. There, with him, she had been convinced that she was in the presence of a truly great man. Yes, it was easy to see how her husband had been convinced by him.

  Soon Hugh le Despenser had noticed Matthew, and then suddenly their lives changed. Rather than being given somewhat demeaning functions, Matthew found himself with serious responsibilities, even finally receiving this post of Sheriff of Devon, with all that that conferred on him. Before that their income was limited, and they were utterly dependent upon the money that they got from their manor, but now all that was changed. They had much more.

  But there was an aspect which Alice could not fail to notice: the power made her husband a great deal more attractive to other women.

  It was odd. Beforehand men had flirted with her while Matthew watched. Now their roles were reversed. Not that many of them would dare to try to throw themselves at him. If they did, Alice would soon have noticed. But it did leave her feeling… what would the word be? Threatened? No, that was too strong. But on edge certainly. After all, she had no children yet, and that lack was the sort of thing that could make a man turn to another. And if he did, and she gave him a child in the place of the woman he had married, then his wife’s life could grow unbearable. Especially with a strong-minded man like her Matthew. If he turned against her, she felt he would become a relentless opponent.

  But even the lack of a child would not tempt him from her bed. She had received too many proofs of his adoration for her to be fearful of that.

  That foolish wench’s declaring her love for him had been proof. She had been quite ridiculous, almost demented, throwing herself at his feet as though he had actually professed his love for her. And that was absolutely impossible. The notion that he would give himself to a lowly serving maid was risible. Quite insane.

  And yet the girl had appeared to be convinced. Totally convinced. As if she really expected Sir Matthew to protect her.

  On top of her brother’s arriving in town, this was one complication Alice really could live without.

  Rob had followed Busse all the way to the castle that morning, and when he saw the brother leave the castle with Langatre he immediately rose and watched the two march down the roadway, across the empty space where no buildings were allowed in case they gave succour to attackers of the castle, and down to the High Street.

  Swiftly Rob was up and after them. This was more interesting than sitting back in Dartmouth and cleaning the bailiff’s rooms or preparing his meals. Usually by this time of the morning he would be growing bored, wondering where the next diversion would be: whether he could escape the house for a couple of hours and find a game of dice to join. There was always gambling of one sort or another going on in the town. It was the great thing about sailors, he reckoned. Where they went, there was money to be traded for fun. But this was better. Being the eyes and spy of an important local official, that was even more fun.

  The two men went along the road as far as Carfoix, and then walked past the cooks’ shops and thence westwards down the hill. It surprised him, for he had expected the brother to want to return to the cathedral, but no, they continued down the lanes until they came to a small house in an unremarkable position, and both entered.

  He idled a few minutes, walking further down the lane to see what else there was, but it just carried on down to another gate, so far as he could see. He wasn’t going all the way down that hill: it was far too steep to want to descend only to have to ascend again later. No, bugger that. Instead he looked about for a good point to stop and watch the place. There was one ideal location, but there was already another man there. And although he made a pretence of idling, he couldn’t fool an expert lounger. As Rob watched, he grew certain that the man was staring at the house with grim determination, as though he was expecting to see his wife in there committing an act of adultery.

  Rob stood staring at the house for a moment or two, but before long his interest was divided between the house and the man who stood gazing at it with such interest, and soon he reasoned that if anything was to happen in the house, he would see it in the man’s eyes anyway, and he gave up any attempt to view both. In preference he settled down in the angle of a house beneath a jetty and devoted himself to watching the stranger.

  He had a feeling that this man was to become useful, and he was ready to stay here and consider the fellow for as long as it proved necessary.

  The man’s wife cackled suddenly, and she aimed a slap at Will’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps you fool them, but you don’t fool me!’

  ‘Leave him, woman,’ Coroner Richard snapped. ‘He is answering our questions.’

  ‘You don’t know what to ask, though, do you?’ she sneered. ‘He knows more than all this! Why don’t you ask him what he conceals?’ She stood and hobbled painfully from the room, spitting on the floor as she went, turning once at the doorway and staring at her husband for a long period, then saying to no one in particular, ‘If you take him, do it and be damned to him! He was ever a poor husband, and now he’s nothing!’

  ‘Perhaps she is right. I don’t trust you,’ Coroner Richard declared when she was gone. ‘You are withholding something, I am sure of it.’

  Baldwin was less convinced, but when he glanced at the watchman he saw that there was something in his eyes that he did not like. There was a strange attentiveness and cunning there – not at all what he would have expected from a man suffering God alone knew what torments after losing his entire family in a fire. It was almost as though he was using his grief as concealment. ‘Well?’

  Will had apparently believed his efforts had succeeded already, and now he gave a little start at the tone of sharpness in Baldwin’s voice. ‘Master?’

  ‘You are keeping something from us, are you not? We need to know what it is that you are holding back, and with the deaths already we h
ave enough reason to take you.’

  ‘There is nothing I can do to help you! I am only the watchman!’

  Simon had propped himself against a great timber set into the wall, and now he glanced at Will with a frown. ‘The king’s messenger lies dead, his messages stolen. It will embarrass our lord bishop if those messages are not recovered. If we wanted, we could have you arrested and taken to the king to be interrogated by his men. If you do not assist us, we may order that.’

  Will shook his head with apparent despair. ‘How might I help you further?’

  ‘You know something,’ the coroner rasped, and now he crossed the room and gripped Will’s shoulder. ‘Tell us what it is, or as there’s a God in heaven, I’ll take you to the castle and question you more fully there myself!’

  The implication of torture was all too plain, and Will paled. ‘I’ll tell you all,’ he protested. ‘Just leave go of my old shoulder, sir knight, I beg! It’s sore enough.’

  ‘Come, then. What have you been keeping from us?’

  ‘Look, a man who serves near the South Gate sometimes will learn things that others may miss. I have been in the city for many years, and I remember something from a long time ago, ten or more years. It was when the men of Bristol rebelled against their tallage – you recall?’

  ‘Aye.’ The coroner nodded. ‘The city mutinied against the king’s lawful taxes, and he had to lay siege to the city until they submitted.’

  ‘Yes. Many were anxious at that time. And even down here in Exeter there were men who said that we should avoid paying the tallage. The rates were set so high. Well, there was one man in particular, Piers de Caen, who said that he rejected them, and he began to seek support among the people to join with him and refuse to pay. Except a short while after he made his feelings known, he was killed.’

  ‘What of it? Men are killed all the time,’ Baldwin said.

  Will’s head was hanging slightly. He looked at Baldwin from beneath lowered brows. ‘There was a man came into the city at about that time. He was thickset, strong, powerful-looking. He made me nervous just to see him. And as soon as Piers died, he left the city again.’