Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

If she had seen the expression of black distrust on her husband’s face, she would have paused to wonder what might have causedit.

Exeter City

Before they left, Baldwin sucked at his bottom lip and took one last look at the body of Mucheton.

‘Was he married? A sweetheart?’

‘I think he was married, yes, but I don’t know the woman myself.’

‘Send someone to find her, and bring news of her to me at the Talbot’s Inn.’

‘I can’t leave my place here, though’.

‘I will send a man to replace you here,’ Baldwin said. ‘You need to be rested.’

He walked slowly after the coroner. Sir Richard took him down the alley towards the South Gate. As they reached the messenger’sbody once more, Baldwin shook his head, eyes narrowed.

‘I find it very peculiar that the bishop could not tell us his name. And it is more strange still that the fellow should diewithin a short while of being in receipt of a message from the bishop. But for now, what we need to do is speak to all thosewho have had anything to do with his fellow’s death. As soon as you have held the inquest, I should have him carried awayto the nearest church ready for his burial, poor soul.’

‘HOI!’ the coroner boomed back at Thomas. ‘You! What is the name of the man who found this fellow? Older man, looked like a harethat’s been chased by the hounds too long?’

‘It was Will Skinner, the watchman from the gate.’

‘Does he live there?’ Baldwin glanced at the gatehouse and again felt like a man about to enter an ambush. It made a chillwash through his frame, and he had to wrap his arms about his breast to calm the shiver that threatened. And then he saw something. In a low window to the left of the main gate, he was sure that he caught a fleeting glimpse of a pale face. He kept his eyes on that little gap as he listened to the response.

‘Next to it, in that small cottage, aye. But he’ll be asleep by now, I reckon.’

‘Really?’ the coroner said. ‘How quaint.’

His manner was one of simple amusement, but Baldwin did not feel the same lightness of spirit. The sun was being smotheredby some grey, unwholesome-looking clouds as they made their way to the gate, and Baldwin kept his eyes on the window all theway until the opening was out of sight, wondering who had been watching. It didn’t matter: surely it was only a child watchingthe two king’s officers at work, or perhaps a servant.

No, he must put the thing from his mind. Feeling a pattering on his head, he looked up to see a fine spattering of hail fallingfrom the leaden clouds. It didn’t bode well for the rest of the day, he thought as they reached the door. The keeper of thegate lived in the rooms built into the gateway itself, but the watchman had directed them to a small building to the rightof the roadway, a ramshackle affair that was almost a lean-to shed with a thick roof of thatch sorely in need of patchingor renewal.

Baldwin shot a look about them, and then rapped smartly on the timbers of the door. They were all mis-sized, fitted togetherinexpertly, and would provide little defence against the elements. Just standing outside here, Baldwin was aware of the windthat whipped along the line of the wall from the quay over to the east, and straight over as though using the wall as itsown roadway.

‘Piss off!’

The coroner turned and looked at Baldwin. There was an expression of mild pain on his face. Then he closed his eyes for a moment,and Baldwin was about to knock again and call out his title, when the sound of the Coroner’s deep intake of breath warnedhim, and he took a quick pace backwards.

‘ Hoi! You festering piece of dog’s turd, OPEN THIS DOOR IN THE NAME OF THE KING! ’

In what was for him a whisper, the coroner added for Baldwin’s benefit, ‘I tend to find that voice works with reluctant witnesses.’

Baldwin was not surprised. Nor was he surprised when a few moments later he saw an eye appear in one of the cracks, an anxiouseye that stared at him for a short while. Shortly thereafter there was the sound of a wooden beam being lifted from its rests,and the door was opened, scraping over the dirt and making an arc in the soil of the floor.

Entering behind the coroner, Baldwin found himself in a small, noisome dwelling, with a mess of dirt on the floor, a singlesmall table and stool, and a filthy palliasse. The smell was a mix of damp dog, urine, and sweat, all mingled in an unwholesomefug. There being no window, the only light came from the doorway through which they had just entered, and in it Baldwin couldsee that the whole of the rear wall was red sandstone like the rest of the city wall, although here it was streaked with greenwhere water was leaking at the junction of the roof and the wall itself. The water puddled at the base of the wall, makingthe floor perpetually damp through the winter. Perhaps in consequence, because it would have been difficult to light a fireand keep it going, instead the watchman made use of a charcoal brazier for his heating. There was one small cauldron for heating water and perhaps making a pottage, but apart from that Baldwin assumed that Will Skinner ate at a pieshop or bought an occasional loaf of bread. There was no sign of any cooking.

‘You remember me from this morning?’ the coroner said, and in the small room it sounded like a bellow.

‘You are the coroner,’ the small man said, and he almost shivered as he spoke. It was plain to Baldwin that the fellow wasentirely unused to being questioned by men of such standing, and he didn’t enjoy it. He had been asleep, from the look ofhis bleary eyes.

‘What do you want with my man, then, eh? You going to try to have him arrested?’

Baldwin and the coroner spun about to find themselves confronted by a woman. In age, she could have been anything from fortyto seventy. Her face was dreadfully scarred, and she was bent like an old crone, but Baldwin had seen a woman like that before- the survivor of a siege who had been engulfed by flames in a final assault.

‘Mistress, you are this man’s wife?’ he asked.

She peered up at him, turning her head sideways to accommodate her bent spine. ‘You guess well, master.’

From nearer, he could feel sympathy for her. Lank hair straggled at either side of a long, thin face pinched with the griefthat was reflected in the eyes. Intelligent, they were red-raw with weeping, and Baldwin had the impression of paleness, asthough all the crying had washed the colour from them. She was an aged peasant woman in shabby clothing, and clearly painand she were long-standing companions.

‘Woman, I am the coroner, and I would speak to him. Pray sit and don’t interrupt,’ Sir Richard said.

To Baldwin’s surprise she made no protest, but walked over and sat down on the stool, one arm on the table while she turned andlistened to the men talking.

‘Now, fellow. This friend of mine here is the Keeper of the King’s Peace, and he has some questions for you. So listen andanswer honestly. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Baldwin was tempted to suggest that they leave the hovel and speak outside, but even as he considered the suggestion therewas a rattling, like gravel thrown at a wall, and when he glanced out he saw that there was a sudden shower of hail. Steelinghimself, he faced Will Skinner.

‘The man you found out there. You found him because there was a hog there?’

‘Yes, it was chewing at something, and I saw the blue and thought to myself that it looked like cloth. So I chased the bruteaway, and saw this fellow’s arm. I thought, “That’s not right,” and pulled at it, and there was the man. So I raised the hueand cry.’

‘Very good. Did you recognise the man? Have you ever seen him before?’