The Malice of Unnatural Death:

by Michael Jecks

  This was a truly awesome character, and fearsome. He gave off a sense of command that was not human, as though any insult would be rewarded immediately with a punishment more ferocious than even the Despenser could imagine.

  Yes. There had been much to fear, looking into those eyes. Not as much as some, of course. The man who killed him was clearly even more to be feared than his victim.

  Tanner walked to his barrel and poured himself a strong ale. He felt light-headed and not a little emotional. The idea that the effort, all the planning, all the terror at the idea of discovery, had been in vain, was enervating. He could have toppled over for lack of command over his legs. Sitting was impossible. If he sat, he might never rise again.

  All that work, he thought, and drained his cup.

  And as the cup was raised, he heard a knock at the door.

  His heart lurched like a rache seeing a cat. ‘Fool, fool, fool!’ he swore at himself. Christ Jesus! If John was dead, obviously they’d known where he was, and that meant they probably knew where all the conspirators were. They must have been following John or someone else, and now they were going about the city and capturing all those who’d ever had anything to do with the conspiracy. Why had he come back here to his house? He must have been mad! He was a cretin!

  The knock came again: urgent, demanding. With leaden feet, Michael Tanner started to cross the floor to the door, but before he could reach it the door sprang open, and in the doorway was only emptiness. He gaped, staring, and even as he did so a figure, tall, slim, clad in dirty grey and black, slipped round the doorframe and into his house. And as Tanner took in the sight, he felt his reason slipping.

  ‘In God’s name—’ he began.

  ‘Yes, friend. In God’s and all the saints’ names,’ said John of Nottingham. He drew his lips back from his teeth and bared them briefly. ‘But before we start our prayers, do you close that door and keep all unwanted eyes from us, eh? Because we have work to do.’

  Lady Alice fell back, away from the dagger, and cried out in alarm. Jen smiled to see her so fearful, and advanced, her long knife waving from side to side, before suddenly lunging.

  It was Sarra who stepped between them, a hand up to protect her mistress. ‘Jen! Jen! Stop this! What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘It’s her, her – she’s poisoned my lover’s mind against me,’ Jen said through gritted teeth. ‘Get out of my way, Sarra.’

  ‘So you can kill her? No, I won’t! You can’t kill her, Jen. All she’s done is stick to her vows. It’s not her fault she married the sheriff before you ever heard his name, is it?’

  ‘He loves me. He always has loved me, and she’s in our way. Without her we can be happy.’

  ‘Jen, he doesn’t feel anything for you at all. Why should he? He’s a knight, Jen, a God-fearing knight – and what are you? You believe he’d leave his wife for you? Look at yourself, Jen! How can you think he’d leave her for you?’

  ‘Shut up! You don’t understand! You haven’t been in love, have you? He and I love each—’

  ‘Has he kissed you? Has he called you his sweeting? Has he touched your body? Has he moaned for love of you? Has he visited your bed at night? What is this, Jen? You are mad if you think he feels anything for you. All he knows right now is that you’re insane. You’re lunatic. If you go back, he wouldn’t even want to be in the same room as you – you have to be sensible, Jen! Put the knife away and leave my mistress alone. Otherwise all you’ll get is a painful death for your treachery to our master.’

  Jen slowly turned to face Sarra, ignoring Lady Alice for a moment. Her face registered her dumb astonishment. As though Sarra could comprehend the depth of feeling that existed between her and her master! ‘You say he wouldn’t want to be in the same room as me? He would leave his position, his wife, his life, if I asked him to …’

  ‘He didn’t even speak up for you when you went to him yesterday, did he? He wouldn’t protect you then, would he? Because he loves his lady. It’s Alice he adores, Jen. Never you.’

  ‘No! No! That’s rubbish. His only trouble is, she’s like a limpet! If he tells her how he loves me, she won’t let him go. She cleaves to him like a contagion! Well, I’ll kill her now and save him from her. Then he and I may leave and find ourselves our own happiness.’

  Sarra shook her head. Her heart was already thudding painfully in her breast, and she put her left hand to it even as she turned her right palm upwards in the sign of good faith. ‘Please, darling Jen, don’t do something you’ll regret. This isn’t you! I know you – you wouldn’t hurt another person for no reason. My lady has done nothing to harm you, Jen. All this stuff about Sheriff Matthew, it’s in your head. It’s not real, Jen.’

  At last she could see her arguing was achieving something. Jen’s face went blank for a moment, and then her eyes screwed up and tears began to flood from them and course down her cheeks. She stood there some little while, hands clenched at her sides, the knife forgotten, her entire body rigid and unmoving. And some of the people who had been watching saw, and one or two men started to step towards her in a bid to capture and restrain her. One, Sarra recognised: it was her mistress’s man. She turned to see whether Alice had seen him too, and then …

  And then Jen’s eyes snapped open, and Sarra’s relief turned to horror as she realised that Jen’s mind had finally broken.

  ‘It’s all right, Sarra,’ she said reasonably, and then gave a gentle smile. ‘I can see you’re worried about your job when I am wife to the sheriff and this sow is in her grave. You don’t have to worry. I’ll keep you in your post. All will be easier when this woman is dead, never fear.’

  Maurice slipped on a cobble, and Jen suddenly became aware of her danger. She shot a look over her shoulder and saw him coming close. Her jaw clenched, and she turned a furious look upon Sarra. ‘You should have warned me!’ she hissed, and then sprang forward with all her anger behind her blow.

  The knife flashed grim and deadly, and Sarra felt nothing, only a desire to save Lady Alice. The moment dragged past slowly, like a lifetime. She saw the knife in Jen’s hand, and she felt herself move to block Jen’s path to Lady Alice. It was instinctual, not a thing she intended to do, and as the knife shot forward to reach past her flank, Sarra felt it hit her, a slow, dragging blow that hurt like a punch, but which hardly felt dangerous. No, it was more like a blow one of her brothers might have given her. And then she had Jen’s forearm in her hands and held it tight. ‘Jen, come, leave us here. You don’t need to get into any more trouble,’ she said.

  She saw Jen’s face twist with rage, and felt the arm in her hands twist. At first she had a good grip, but then somehow her grip loosened, and she felt the knife hand pull away from her, saw it gleam like red oil in a wide arc to keep the men at bay, and all hold up their hands, watching that wicked blade as it passed in front of them. And Sarra tried to go to Jen to capture her herself, wrap her arms about her so as not to hurt her, and try to bring her to her senses, but she heard a sharp, piercing squeal and spun on her heel to see her lady staring at her with a hand to her mouth.

  ‘Lady, I …’

  But no more words would come. In a bleak inspiration, she knew what Alice had seen. The pain throbbed at first, like a bruise, but then she was racked with a white-hot searing deep in her bowels, and as she put her hand to her side she realised she was dying. There was a gushing from the wound, and a hot, burning feeling at her groin and heart, and as she fell to her knees she saw Jen baring her teeth in impotent malice at Lady Alice before springing away from the encircling men and darting up an alley.

  Then she toppled over, and even as Maurice reached Alice, Sarra’s sight was fading. She just couldn’t focus. It was so irritating. And there was a roaring noise in her ears …

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Exeter City

  Maurice reached his sister as her legs began to buckle. ‘Sister! Sister, did she cut you?’ His arms went about her, and he gripped her in a hug.

  Her
eyelids fluttered, and as his panic communicated itself to her she shuddered, and then pushed him away. ‘Sarra! Sarra!’

  Maurice had seen enough death already in his life. He glanced down at the maid where she lay twitching on the ground, eyes wide but unseeing. ‘She is dead, Alice. I am sorry.’

  Alice gave a short scream, instantly quashed as she realised who was holding her. ‘Maurice, you must run! Fly from here. My husband’s men will be here any moment. Please, run!’

  Maurice looked over at the house. He could see all the people in the roadway about them staring at the body at his feet. ‘I cannot …’

  ‘Leave me! Just go!’

  He nodded dumbly. Slowly and reluctantly he let his sister free from his arms, and saw her sink to her knees on the roadway at Sarra’s side, weeping as she reached out to Sarra’s face, stroking it gently as the life left her.

  And then he turned and set off in pursuit of the bitch who had tried to kill his sister.

  Baldwin sat musing for a long while after Robinet had finished. It was plain enough to him that this man had reason enough to kill the messenger, but he was less convinced of his ability to do so. For one thing, unless Robinet managed to have James overwhelmed with drink, it was clear enough that James was the younger, the taller, and the stronger of the two. In a straight fight, James must surely win. Then there was the other aspect: the fingers removed while James was yet living. He couldn’t see why Robinet should want to torture the man.

  It was Simon who voiced his feelings. ‘How would this fellow get the messenger to submit to losing a finger or two?’

  ‘Money, Bailiff,’ the coroner said. ‘It’ll always bring in a hireling to help do your business. This is a large enough city. There are plenty of men here to do a man’s bidding.’

  ‘It would take a strong man to hold down the messenger while his finger was taken off,’ Simon said musingly.

  ‘What of this fellow’s friend?’ the coroner said, as though reluctantly. He was averse to bringing to justice those who acted from good motives, clearly.

  ‘Walter of Hanlegh,’ Baldwin murmured. ‘The man who would do the king’s bidding. Where is he now, fellow?’

  ‘I do not know,’ said Newt. ‘I suppose he saw someone whom he sought to follow or something … Perhaps the man he thought might have been the killer of James.’

  ‘He too was a friend of this James?’ Baldwin ventured.

  ‘Alas, no. He considered James a traitor to me, and for that reason he refused to speak to him. Walter is a man of firm views.’ Newt smiled thinly.

  ‘Firm enough to avenge the injustice done to you?’ Simon queried swiftly.

  ‘No,’ Newt said firmly. ‘He denied it and Walter is a man of honour.’

  ‘Was he a local man? Was he born Exonian?’ Coroner Richard asked. ‘I don’t remember the name.’

  ‘No. He was here some years ago, and liked the city. When he left the king’s service, he had money to buy a house, so he came here to live.’

  ‘What was he doing here before?’ Simon said.

  ‘It was a service to the king, that is all I know,’ Newt said. ‘He would not discuss his tasks with me, and I won’t speculate with you about him. He is honourable and fair-minded. I will say no more.’

  ‘Let us go to his house, then,’ Baldwin said, rising. ‘Perhaps we shall find him there.’

  Newt nodded, albeit unhappily. He already felt as though he had betrayed his oldest friend, but there was little else he could do in the face of their suspicion, and just now all he wanted was to ensure that these men accepted his own innocence.

  They made their way from the tavern, and as they did so they heard the all too familiar sound of the hue and cry.

  ‘Sweet Jesus, what is the matter with this city?’ Coroner Richard boomed as he heard the regular blasts on a horn. ‘Come, Keeper, we should go and investigate this, too.’

  Baldwin shook his head, grunting. ‘I would prefer to see this Walter … but is not that noise coming from the east? If we continue on our way to Walter’s house, we shall surely pass the place from which all this noise is coming.’

  Newt was content to have their visit to Walter’s house delayed. For all he knew, this was another little incident in a large city: a churl caught trying to snare a purse in a crowd, or an urchin grabbing a loaf and bolting. There were always little felonies being committed in a city the size of Exeter.

  They made their way up the lane towards Carfoix, and it was as they turned a corner in the street that they came across the little group of people. A woman stood weeping loudly at the side, being comforted by Langatre and another man, while others peered and spoke in hushed voices.

  ‘Stand back!’ The coroner stood in the road with his hands on his belt and bellowed with full force, and the men in the crowd moved away hurriedly. A woman at the far side of the road gave a small shriek on hearing him, and dropped a basket of eggs.

  ‘Well? What is all this?’ Coroner Richard demanded. ‘Oh! Good Christ!’

  ‘Who is this child?’ Baldwin demanded as he dropped to a knee at her side. There was a terrible wound in her flank, he saw. It looked as though a long blade had stabbed in, and then been torn out through her stomach wall. Blood oozed slowly through the mess of intestines, and although her hand remained over the gash, her eyes were already dim, lips pale, flesh waxen. She was past rescue. ‘You poor, sweet child,’ he murmured.

  A priest hurried up, unstoppering his bottle of water as he flung himself at her side, making the sign of the cross and beginning his ritual. It was enough to bring Baldwin back to his senses. He brought himself up from his knees and cast about him. ‘Langatre – what can you tell us about this?’

  ‘This is Lady Alice. I heard her scream, and when I came to see what was the matter, her maid here was lying as you see her. Another servant did it, apparently.’

  ‘It was Jen. She was cast from our household this morning,’ Lady Alice said, and shuddered. She was cold, so cold! Wrapping her arms about her, she managed to prevent herself from succumbing to the waves of nausea which threatened. She wanted to throw herself into Maurice’s arms, but that would only cause more comment, and she dared not. She must be strong! ‘I thought she was a little unhinged – she said my husband had promised himself to her, and that he would divorce me in order to win her. I was so furious that I decided she must be sent away, but I had no idea … no idea …’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Jen appeared. She had a knife, and tried to stab me. It was only because I moved quickly that she didn’t kill me.’ Alice held up her arm. There was a slash in the rich material of her tunic, and a little blood had stained it. ‘As soon as I was away and safe, Sarra tried to speak sensibly to her, but she wouldn’t listen. Wouldn’t hear anything. Just kept repeating that I was in her way, or something. I don’t know … I can’t truly recall her exact words … and then she lunged and tried to stab at me, but caught little Sarra instead. She did that … and then fled.’

  ‘Where?’

  It was Langatre who answered. ‘Up that alley there. She has half the men from the street after her, though. I doubt she will escape them all.’

  Baldwin looked at Sir Richard. ‘You are coroner, old friend. What should we do with her? You have seen her body already. Is there any need for her to remain here until the jury can be collected?’

  ‘No, of course not! Let us set her down in the undercroft with that necromancer. That would surely be best,’ Coroner Richard said, quietly for him. He kept gazing down at the little body, and Baldwin saw the glistening at his eyes. It made his own begin to well.

  Activity was always the best cure for such emotions, and he quickly sniffed to himself, then called to men to fetch a few boards or a door to carry the body down the stairs. In a few minutes a door was provided and Baldwin helped the priest and Langatre to lift her little frame onto it. It was not a heavy job. She was little larger, so Baldwin felt, than his own Richalda. No. Nonsense. Richalda was only an eig
hth the age of this young woman. Still, the feeling of sadness would not leave him as he watched Simon and Robinet pick up the door with its sad burden and begin to march to the undercroft.

  The dark was like a clammy blanket after the open air in the street, and as they walked inside Baldwin heard Simon bellowing for a candle. Baldwin felt the cool lick up his cheeks as he trailed in after them, cursing as he felt his boot squelch in the mess of dirt and blood at the doorway, and then he was feeling about for tinder and a flint. Soon he managed to strike a glow, and blew it gently until he had fanned it into flame. Setting a candle to it, he lighted two more and placed them on a shelf before, helping to clear a space on a table. Simon and Robinet lifted the door up, and carefully rolled Sarra’s body onto the table before bowing their heads respectfully and moving away.

  Baldwin was already cupping a hand about the first of the candles to snuff it when he heard the explosion of shock.

  ‘Christ’s cods! Sweet Mother of Christ, NO! ’

  And then Robinet fell to his knees beside the body on the ground.

  ‘Walter! Walter, no!’

  Jen was strangely cold. There was the noise of the people chasing her along the alleyway, and that made her heart thud like a hammer in her breast, but that wasn’t it. In some way it felt as though she wasn’t here at all, as though she was relaxed and unconcerned, floating high over all the people and the city, observing with the detachment of an angel as her body pounded along the cobbles.

  Sarra would understand. Given time, she’d understand. This wasn’t some silly infatuation like so many girls had every so often, this was real love. Love that could scorch a couple when it ignited. Sarra couldn’t see that yet, but she would when Matthew declared his love for her. Trying to tell her, Jen, that he didn’t care for her! Hah! She must have thought Jen was blind not to have seen it. His adoration was there in his eyes at every moment when he was in a room with her. There was no concealing it. The only obstacle was his first wife, and she must leave him. She would go one way or another.