Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

For all his bluster, the coroner was a kindly man. He could see perfectly well that the watchman was petrified at being questionedby him, and, to be fair, Sir Richard de Welles was not concerned with the fellow anyway. He was much more interested in themen who should be here as witnesses. He wasn’t holding a formal inquest yet, but he did want to see who the neighbours wereso that tomorrow, when he did hold the full inquest, he would know whom he was dealing with.

‘Two murders in as many days, hey? Suppose that’s what you get when you live in a city. Damned unhealthful places, cities. Give me a good vill in the country. Somewhere with dogs and a park to hunt the deer. You can keep your alleys and windingstreets,’ he said conversationally. ‘That other fellow,’ he said, jerking his head up the alley where he had already inspectedthe body from the previous morning, ‘he’ll be safe to leave exactly where he is. This one, though, I suppose we ought to pullhim free. Can’t have him lying in the middle of this rubbish heap, eh? Someone might decide to tidy him up …’ He stopped and took a long, considering viewof the neighbourhood. Then, shaking his head sadly, he confessed, ‘Although I can’t see it meself. No one ever cleans up aroundhere, do they? Damned mess.’ He glanced back at Will, who had started to relax, feeling the coroner’s attention moving on.‘Tell me: did you knock up the neighbours?’

‘Aye, all four nearest.’

‘And are those excellent fellows here now?’ Sir Richard asked, gazing about him amiably.

‘Three of them are, your honour.’

‘Three, you say? That is good. It is almost very good. What sort of man is the fourth, who failed to come here today?’

‘He is a tradesman, sir. He is working. We didn’t think you’d hold an inquest today, because it’ll take a day to gather thejury … sir …’

The smile on Sir Richard de Welles’s face grew brittle. ‘He is working, is he? And a fine thing to be doing, too. Is thereany here who knows this man? What is he called? John Currier? Excellent. Excellent. Now, my fine friend Will …’ Sir Richardplaced his hands on his hips and smiled, leaning down to the petrified watchman. ‘Will, I would like you to go to this marvellousman, right now, if you don’t mind, and when you see him, you tell that benighted excretion of a minor demon that whether or not I hold the inquest here today, I am working too, and ifhe doesn’t want his balls separated from his body and spread over my roasted bread before the full inquest tomorrow morning,he had best get his arse over here RIGHT NOW! ’

‘I’ll bring him,’ Will bleated anxiously, all but tripping over his staff in his hurry to escape that fearful face with the blazing eyes. He stumbled once on the rough cobbles, andthen hared off as fast as his ancient legs would carry him.

The coroner, satisfied that the man had an appreciation of his need for urgency, turned away from him and studied his audience. All male, their ages ranging from some twelve or thirteen years, the jury ringed him, their faces registering their own displeasure. None was happy to be there, especially when a body had been found so near to them. A corpse meant one thing: punishment. Theyall knew that if this man had been murdered, they would all be amerced.

Sir Richard allowed his eyes to range over the jury, and then he selected two to pull the man from the pile, his eyes goingto the body as the men grabbed a wrist and an arm and tugged.

The man at the wrist was a younger fellow, and the churl was as ineffectual as a damned maiden in the way that he pulled atthe hand which had been all but chewed away by the hog, but Sir Richard’s attention was not focused on him, or on the handwith the missing fingers. Rather, his serious gaze was fixed on the uniform of the dead man. Particoloured: half blue, halfblue striped.

‘Sweet mother of Christ,’ he muttered. ‘The man’s a king’s messenger.’

Watching from a short distance away, the man sucked his teeth as the messenger’s body was tugged from the garbage heap, andthen, having seen enough, he turned away and crossed the street towards the tavern at the top of the Cooks’ Row. From therehe could watch the streets east and west, which gave him some comfort. He didn’t want to be arrested without seeing her.

Maurice had spent too much time running. His boots were almost worn through, his hosen frayed and ripped from crossing too much wildland through bracken and bramble, and his cloak was scarcely any use as protection from the weather. Although he still carrieda small riding sword, it was concealed beneath his cloak where men would not see it so easily. A man of his condition shouldnot carry a noble weapon like that. It attracted too much attention.

He bit into a loaf of bread and ate it ravenously, his eyes going about all the men in the room. No one appeared to be takingtoo much notice of him, and he felt moderately sure that his sudden departure from Evesham had gone unnoticed. In any case,he had covered the distance quickly, and even mounted men would have taken longer. Riders had to bear in mind the conditionof their horses.

Finishing his meal, he rested his left hand at his thigh, feeling the comforting weight of the sword beneath. He had one thingto do here, and he would do it, no matter what.

In the alley, Robinet was marching at a rapid pace. First thing was, to get out of the city. There were plenty of places wherea man like him could hide, but the first thing was protection. While he remained here in the city, there was the danger thatsomeone might have seen him with the dead man and report him. In his shabby clothing, he was scarcely conspicuous, but withhis luck the man who saw him would be a fellow with a perfect memory for detail. Better by far to leave the city and put asmany miles between it and him as possible.

How could he have been so stupid ! It was insane to kill the man. Yes, he had been a complete bastard to Robinet, and betrayed his trust entirely, but that was no excuse for such a mad act. He must have been beastly drunk to have done somethinglike that. Anyway, he thought they’d been getting on fine by the third quart of strong ale. Had they argued late in the night?

The memory of the blade at his belt, smothered in a slick coating of gore, was enough to make his belly clench, and he wasclose to heaving as he reached the end of the alley. His pack was made of his cloak, rolled and tied with thongs to keep everythinginside, and now he slipped his arm through one and threw the parcel over his shoulder, gripped his staff, and let his headhang as he walked towards the southern gate.

As always the way here was blocked with the crowds coming into the city. Exeter was so busy now, the four key gates were alwayshectic. Today the southern gate was blocked by what looked like a solid mass of people marching towards him, all carryingwares on their heads or yokes about their necks. A woman with a bucket of fish had dropped it and was wailing as she triedto gather up her merchandise; a short distance behind her a tranter on his cart was hurling abuse at her for holding up everyoneelse, and when she remained there in the road the man swore loudly, whipped up his old nag, and tried to ride around her. His wheel caught between a pair of loose cobbles, and although the horse tugged for all it was worth, the cart rocked butwouldn’t rise from the small gulley. In a fury, the carter jerked the reins, and the poor brute, trying to obey, twisted topass across the road. One hoof caught the woman a slashing blow on her arm, and she screamed as the sharpened metal of theshoe tore down her upper arm and opened the flesh for six inches. The horse, panicked by her scream, reared and plunged, and terrified people screamed as they saw those metal-shod feet flailing.