Bernard Knight - The Grim Reaper

‘What are they?’

The elderly Benedictine screwed up his eyes and held the parchment further away. ‘It says, “For thou do not enquire wisely concerning this” … whatever that might mean.’

De Wolfe looked blankly at him, forgetting the pounding in his head. ‘Is that from the scriptures?’

The infirmarian looked again at the words. ‘It certainly sounds biblical — but to my shame, I have no great knowledge of the Holy Book, being more concerned with potions and salves.’

The prior was hovering in the doorway, listening to what was said. He came forward and took the scrap of parchment from the monk’s fingers.

‘Neither do I recognise that quotation — but there are some further letters at the end …’ He pulled the fragment towards his nose, for unlike the older man, he was short-sighted. ‘They seem to be “Ecc”, which must surely refer to Solomon’s Book of Ecclesiastes — though it could also be Ecclesiasticus, the Wisdom of Jesus, son of Sirach, in the Apocrypha.’

John was not concerned with the academic origins of the words. As long as they came from the Vulgate, that was good enough to lay them at the feet of the murderer. At the moment, all he cared about was saving Thomas de Peyne from the gallows tomorrow and even the prospect of catching the killer took second place to that.

The significance of the quotation was at first obscure, but on thinking about it a little more, his still-shaken brain decided it was a rebuke for being too searching in his investigations. That was good, he thought, for it meant that the culprit was getting worried that the law was closing in on him.

Events moved quickly after this, as did de Wolfe’s return to full activity. He was a tough old soldier who had suffered a multitude of injuries far worse than this and, within an hour, was able to stand and walk about, though his head still ached abominably. Before that, though, Nesta had arrived breathless and, ignoring the gossip that was sure to follow, threw her arms about John and tearfully celebrated both his lucky escape and the reprieve it surely must mean for Thomas.

‘You could have been killed,’ she snuffled. ‘And almost in the backyard of my own tavern! I feel responsible for letting you walk out into such danger,’ she added illogically.

‘The crowner was a lucky man, mistress,’ said the weaver, grinning at the sight of the coroner and his mistress showing such public affection, and in a priory, of all places. ‘The knock on the head was not too bad, but that bag over his chops would have smothered him, had not the stitches given way.’

This sent Nesta into another paroxysm of emotion, which was cut short by pounding feet outside and the entry of the huge castle constable, Ralph Morin, followed by Gabriel and Osric, the town guard.

The story was told all over again and the leather bag and the parchment passed around, for de Wolfe was anxious for them to verify all that had happened, to defeat any counter-attack by the sheriff and the Justices. ‘Osric, make sure that you get the name of every man who came to my aid in Smythen Street tonight. They may be needed to give testimony.’ Ralph Morin, a good friend of de Wolfe and a covert adversary of de Revelle, promised he would send all the available men-at-arms from Rougemont to scour the streets, though this was little more than a gesture in the pitch dark, when they had no idea who they were looking for.

‘Have you any suspects we should put our hands on at the moment?’ he demanded. ‘You say it must be a priest, but who are the most likely candidates?’

‘There are a hundred to choose from, Ralph, and I have no evidence against any of them. One of the possibles is locked up just across the passage here, so it can’t be him.’

The prior shook his head. ‘No, he’s not! He went out a few hours ago.’

De Wolfe stared at him. ‘But he was raving mad when I came to see him. How can he have gone? Did he escape?’

The prior shook his tonsured head. ‘After you left, he suddenly became calmer. He put on his clothes and asked us to send for his fellow priest and confessor, Adam of Dol. I had no reason to refuse. Adam came up and said he was taking de Capra back to his dwelling. I protested for a while, but had no power to keep de Capra against his will if a brother priest was willing to look after him, so off he went, as quietly as a lamb.’ The prior sounded glad to have been relieved of the responsibility. De Wolfe walked to the doorway. ‘I’ll go up to Rougemont myself very soon. My clerk needs to be put out of his misery about tomorrow — and I need to have a few strong words with the sheriff. Where is he, anyway?’

‘Eating and drinking with the Justices down at the New Inn,’ said Morin sarcastically. ‘He’s not one to let slip any chance of fraternising with the high and mighty!’

John grunted. ‘We’ll call in on him and their lordships on the way. I’ll enjoy spoiling their digestion by telling them that the hanging is off.’

De Wolfe set off for the New Inn, with Ralph Morin close by his side in case he staggered or collapsed. But his hard head and his exultation at Thomas’s rescue kept him on his feet as he walked with increasing confidence through the darkened streets of Exeter. With his white bandages swathing his head, he looked more like one of Saladin’s warriors than the King’s coroner. At the inn, the landlord told them that the sheriff had left for Rougemont and the judges had already retired, so they carried on to the castle, although John found the temptation to drag the Justices from their beds hard to resist.

With Osric and the sergeant-at-arms following behind, they arrived at the keep. There, de Wolfe and Morin marched into de Revelle’s outer chamber without ceremony. It was empty, but John hammered on the inner door to the sheriff’s bedroom, remembering the time, some months earlier, when he had caught him in there with a whore.

This time he was alone, and opened the door petulantly, dressed in a gaudy silk surcoat to cover his nakedness. He stared in sleepy incredulity at his brother-in-law’s Levantine headdress and was even more incredulous when he heard that the Gospel killer was still on the loose. For several minutes, nothing would convince him that this was not some underhand plot of de Wolfe’s. ‘But you weren’t killed, were you?’ he brayed. ‘This was just some opportunist cutpurse in that unsavoury part of town!’

John jingled the coins in his purse to quash that notion. ‘Neither was de Vallibus killed, was he? Nor that harlot in the fire — and maybe there was another who didn’t die!’ He winked at Richard, who understood that unless he was careful the full story of Waterbeer Street might leak out.

The sheriff weakened, but muttered again that there must be some mistake, so Ralph Morin yelled for Osric and Gabriel to come in from the hall. They told their story, listed the numerous eye-witnesses and then, as the coup de grâce , produced the leather bag and the parchment note.

De Revelle stared at this, then feebly suggested it might be a forgery.

‘A forgery?’ roared de Wolfe. ‘It was found inside the bag that almost killed me. And d’you think I knocked myself unconscious, then swallowed the weapon that did it?’

De Revelle, sitting slumped behind his table in his peacock-blue robe, capitulated. ‘Very well, but we’ll get that canon, Jordan de Brent, up to look at it in the morning. He’s the expert on writing.’

‘That will tell you nothing, but if it pleases you, do it. At the same time, you can get him to look at that ridiculous note you read to me about my clerk, to see if that was a forgery. Now I’m going below to the undercroft to tell my much-abused clerk the good news.’

The sheriff leapt up, his surcoat falling open to reveal a hairy chest and a white belly. ‘He’s not being released tonight, whatever you say! Not until this is put to the Justices and they agree, understand? I’ve suffered some of your damned tricks before, John, so keep away from him tonight, d’you hear!’