Michael Jecks - The Prophecy of Death

‘Here, my Lord,’ he responded, hurriedly climbing to his feet. The man calling was known to him, of course. He was the King’s own bottler.

The bottler stood in the doorway now, a serious expression on his face as he studied Joseph for a moment with pursed lips. Then he gave a brief shake of his head as though in disgust, and jerked his head towards the abbot’s hall, where the King was presently installed. ‘The King wants you. Personal message.’

Joseph did not hesitate. A messenger was always ready to be called on at a moment’s notice. He had his little purse with the King’s insignia embossed on it hanging from his belt, and now he pushed past the bottler, full of fire and excitement to be off again.

He only hoped it wasn’t to be another foreign trip. The food played havoc with his belly.

Second Tuesday following Easter 11

Christ Church Priory

Baldwin and Simon were up early the next morning and, with relief, witnessed Cook bringing the jury to order before the coroner. The bodies were viewed, stripped naked before the jury, and then rolled over and over to show all the injuries sustained.

Witnesses were called to describe the events of the previous day, first Cook, then other guards from the gate, then the two bishop’s men who had struck the three down, and lastly others who had seen the blows. There was little real evidence of intentional murder, Baldwin felt, once the fact of men hurling ordure at the two was noted. It was plain enough that the three had been angry to see foreigners ignoring the queue at the gate and showed their displeasure by flinging muck. The jury accepted that the men had felt threatened, and in justice to them, it was agreed that their swords had been bloodied because they had feared that they might be in danger of their lives.

Simon was not watching the matter as closely as Baldwin. Simon’s attention was fixed on the coroner himself. The coroner was observing the two accused keenly, Simon noticed, and he was surprised enough to nudge Baldwin and point. Baldwin nodded, but then shrugged. He appeared to be saying it was nothing to do with him what the coroner thought of them.

At last the coroner summed up the evidence as his clerk recorded the facts, and he declared that the three had been killed by a chance medley. It was better than a decision that there had been murder done, a deliberate and premeditated slaughter, for that would have meant an argument about whether the men would be allowed to continue on their journey with the Bishop, but, with the official recording of the verdict, both of the men were relieved. A killing ‘ par chaude melle ’, or in hot blood, with the implication of deliberation, would have prevented the two from accompanying the Bishop.

‘A good result for the Bishop,’ Baldwin commented as the jury began to disperse.

‘Where are you going?’ Simon asked.

‘I want a word with that gatekeeper,’ Baldwin said over his shoulder as he hurried after Cook.

‘You got the decision you wanted, then,’ Cook said as Baldwin approached.

‘I think it was just. But close. I don’t know those two men, but I can easily believe that they acted from fear, not maliciousness.’

‘Can you really?’ the gatekeeper said. He turned his back and would have walked away, but Baldwin asked him to halt for a moment. ‘Why?’

‘This monk killed in the priory barn. Do you know anything about it?’

‘Only what you say, that he was slain in a barn and left there.’

‘Hmm.’

‘That tone carries a great deal of meaning, Sir Baldwin.’

‘I was reflecting that the priory has solid gates, my friend. Do you suppose another monk, or perhaps a lay brother, killed the lad?’

To his surprise, the gatekeeper grinned. ‘Do you? No. I think almost anyone would have learned where the weaknesses in the priory wall lay. There are plenty of men in the city who have seen brothers in the town after curfew. Any convent with intelligent young men will occasionally learn that young men are young men, and where there are a few lodged together, some will find the means to escape and find a tavern which will sell them wine or ale. I would bet I could find a way in within an hour, if I wished to.’

‘So the priory is not so secure as your gate, then?’

‘No. Not at all.’

‘Which means that the killer was already in the city — unless you think he bribed a gatekeeper to open a postern and let him in.’

‘No. None of the keepers would do a thing like that,’ Cook said with certainty.

‘I accuse no one. But if you were me, would there be any gate you would look to first, thinking a man might get through?’

‘There are none,’ Cook said, and he looked like a man who was now in a hurry. ‘I must be off.’

‘I thank you for your aid, friend Cook,’ Baldwin said.

Cook looked at him, then over to the prior and a number of brothers who ambled along the way. ‘There is one thing,’ he said suddenly, lowering his voice and not meeting Baldwin’s eye. He ducked his head to pick up his pack and swiftly spoke in an undertone. ‘Look at the castle. There is a small postern near the castle wall. If I had to bet on a corrupt man …’

After the inquest and his talk with Cook, Baldwin and Simon went to break their fast with biscuits and cold meats and cool ale from the priory’s stocks.

‘Well?’ Simon asked when he had eaten his fill.

‘What?’

‘The gatekeeper. What will you do now?’

‘I seriously do not think that there is anything I can do to help the prior. I have a realistic explanation of how the man got into the priory. He had a corrupt monk, I think, who was prepared to sell the priory’s valuables for money. The monk was killed, and his murderer made his escape over a section of easily scaleable wall, before making his way to a postern in the city wall, from where he escaped. There is no mystery. Which means that the prior and coroner are correct in their assumptions. There is nothing for me to do or say.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Tell the prior. There’s nothing for me here. It’s for the coroner and local officers to seek out the man.’

Once he had spoken to the prior, telling him what he had told Simon, Baldwin rejoined Simon near the stables. The friends stood watching while their mounts were prepared by the prior’s stablemen.

‘Did you learn anything to advantage last night?’ the Bishop asked, although not with any real apparent interest.

‘The prior has his own concerns,’ Baldwin said evasively. He did not wish to blurt out his conclusions of the previous evening. A man of authority like this bishop was not to be trusted as a confidant.

‘The good prior is a very harassed man,’ the Bishop said, cocking his head as the Queen’s hounds began to bay.

It was a sound which disconcerted his own, and apart from the calm dog which Baldwin coveted, his animals began to bark, one pair even beginning to fight. As Baldwin watched, the dog seemed to hunch his shoulders and try to walk from the fighting pair.

‘Bishop, that beast of yours over there. He is a wonderfully handsome fellow. Where did you find him?’

For the first time Baldwin saw the Bishop animated. He curled his lips with disdain. ‘That thing? It is useless. A man from the wild mountains gave him to me. I think he was just glad to be rid of a useless mouth, for the animal is singularly pointless. It barks when anyone walks nearby, but it won’t fight, it won’t fetch, it won’t do anything. It just meanders along behind a man. And then it will come so near as to stub his nose on your foot as you walk. Useless.’

‘But very handsome.’

‘He has looks, I grant you, but there is no point to him. As I say, will he hunt? No. Will he chase? No. All he does is eat and drink my food. Look at him — he avoids a fight. He has no soul, no pride.’