Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

Shaking his head gently, he walked to the doorway. From here he could gaze out into a small yard. It was entirely unfamiliar,and he wondered whether he might have been brought here by James last night.

The fellow had a sound heart. He had explained all about how his uncautious words had come to the ear of the king, and howhis guilt had assailed him immediately he heard what had happened to Robinet, but by that stage there was nothing he coulddo. The harm was done, and Robinet was after all the architect of his own downfall. He should have kept his trap locked shutinstead of shooting his mouth off like some idiot with word diarrhoea.

Bearing in mind how fearful James had been on meeting him again, the lad had proved stout-hearted. He’d insisted on buying Robinet, his ‘old mentor’, as he would repeat over and over, more ale until Newt had been quite cheerful. And then, for somereason, the pair of them had decided that they needed to go out for a walk in the middle of the night. A God-cursed miraclethey hadn’t been seen by the watch and arrested.

Why, though? Was it just to clear their heads? To his shame, Newt couldn’t remember. It was an affliction he’d noticed before, this loss of memory after a few ales. It never used to happen to him when he was young, but now he was intohis fiftieth year, whenever he drank more than usual, it led to this forgetfulness.

The light was bright in the doorway, and, feeling still rather fragile, he walked slowly to the bed where he had slept lastnight, letting himself fall into the hay. Eyes closed, he groaned gently to himself. James must have brought him here ratherthan deposit him with Walter. James had always been scared of Walter — natural enough, but Robinet had long ago lost any terrorhe had of Walter. The man was retired now, anyway, and it was plain silly to be scared of him. Still, it had been kind of James to find him a safe, warm stable to sleep in. If he’d been left out in the cold and ice, he could have frozen to thecobbles.

It was strange to think how he had hated James for all those years. The lad had been the focus of all his bile and loathing,and yet now James had protected him from the miserable weather.

Curious to think how they had changed. When they had first met, it was before the famine. Christ Jesus, Robinet was stilltoo used to the miserable weather of the last years. It would never leave him, no, nor any of the others who had experiencedit. The famine had touched every household in the realm with the kiss of death. Barons, the rich, the poor, all were affected. And as people died, the cost of food had risen until many like Robinet could no longer afford feed for their horses.

Robinet had already decided to end his career in 1320, but when his corrody had been granted at Ospringe, he had taken leaveto travel a little more. For a man like him, to be tied to one religious house was a torment. Better by far to be permitted to wander still as the urge took him. There was little of the country which he had not already seen, admittedly,but he still had a desire to see some other aspects of it. He had come to Exeter, and then he had seen the man whom he loathedabove all others. The man who had reported him and destroyed his career. Young James.

It was peculiar to see him there in broad daylight as though there was nothing for him to be fearful about. The fool. Therewas always someone to fear, no matter how strong or courageous you might be. Even the king himself … but that was a separatestory.

A cry in the street startled him out of his mild torpor. He put his hands on the hay and pushed himself upright. There wasa liquid mess on the hay under his left hand, and without wanting to look at it or discover what it might be, he averted hishead, still queasy, and wiped his hand dry on the stems before walking to the door and peering out into the sunlight.

Shielding his eyes from the brightness, he was relieved when a cloud drifted lazily overhead and shut out the light. He crossedthe yard, aware at every step of the looseness in his belly. It felt deeply unpleasant. At the gate to the yard, he foundhimself looking out into an ancient alley which smelled rank with the odour of faeces and rotten meats.

From here, the alley ran southwards down to the southern gate. It lay a distance below him, down the hill. His eyes were notas strong as they once had been, even before the ale last night, yet he could make out a group of people standing in a raggedline at the bottom of the hill. One was a great, bearded fellow, and Robinet wondered who he could be. Certainly, the fellowwas haranguing his audience with vigour, from what Robinet could see. And then he saw the body being drawn from the rubbish, and he withdrew from the doorway in alarm, his hand on his knife. Quickly, he snatchedit free and stared in horror at the blackening stains on the metal of the forged blade. Filled with a rising horror, he noticedhis hand — the mess that he had rested his palm on was blood …

His common sense rose swiftly now, and he strode across, back into the stable. Yes, the mess in the hay beside the flattenedarea where he had slept was indeed beslobbered with blood. He quickly grabbed a handful of straw and wiped his hand again,then rubbed at his dagger’s blade until it was clean.

‘Must leave the town,’ he said to himself. His pack must be here somewhere, and he cast about for it. The room appeared tobe a storage house for a rich man or someone, and was filled with hay and barrels of salted fish among other items. Nothinggood for him just now, certainly. He must find his few belongings and be gone, that was all that mattered to him now: to getto Walter’s house, collect his belongings and make good his escape.

And then he heard voices approaching the place, and he must retreat into the shadows, his eyes as wide as a felon who feltthe rope begin to tightened about his neck.

‘Sweet Jesus, what have I done?’

As soon as the voices had passed by up the alleyway, he kicked the hay about to conceal where he had lain and cover over theblood, and then slipped out into the alley himself.

Exeter City

COME, NOW! WHO FOUND THIS BENIGHTED SOUL?’

Will was fretting enough already, without this giant bellowing at him. He tentatively put up his hand and confessed that he haddiscovered the corpse.

‘You again, eh? You found the poor devil up that alley as well, didn’t you? Don’t be so damned nervous, man. You make me twitchy! Come along, come along! What happened, hey?’

Not only was Will a watchman, he had also been involved in several juries over the years, and the thought of a coroner’s inquestheld no fears for him. He knew the coroners of the city, and they were not scary. Yet this man …

Sir Richard de Welles was a large man — not over-tall, perhaps a little more than six feet, nor grossly fat, but in some waythe bearded knight appeared to take up more space than an ordinary mortal. He stood with his legs set widely apart and gazedabout him with an expression of benign approval on his cherubic face. Much was concealed by the thick bush of beard that overhunghis chest like a heavy gorget. His eyes were dark brown and shrewd, and criss-crossed with wrinkles, making him appear olderthan his true age of some fifty summers.

And just now those keen, narrowed eyes were studying Will.

‘WELL, MAN?’ he suddenly barked, and Will all but dropped his staff.

‘Sir, if it pleases your honour, I found him here. A hog was at him already, sir, and I had to beat it away, but the man wasdown here under the rubbish and I had to clear away a little of it to see him. Then the gatekeeper here came to help me when I raised the hue and cry, and …’

‘Enough! God’s pain, but you’d witter here while the city burned about your ears, wouldn’t you, man? No doubt you’re a finefellow when it comes to maintaining the peace at night after curfew, but you just leave matters to me when it comes to deadmen, eh?’