Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

Newt noted the transformation from arrogance to terror with secret delight. There was a delicious aspect to this — revengewas so close! His hand was already at the hem of his cloak as he tried to pull it tight over his breast, but the temptationto whip his hand down to the hilt of his dagger and draw and stab … But even as the hatred bubbled like acid in his veins,his natural caution made him still the manoeuvre. There was something … pitiful in the sight of this young man suddenly shrunken with abject fear. To kill him would be no challenge, and would serve whatpurpose? It would make Newt a marked man for as long as he evaded capture. Which, at his age, could hardly be for long.

It made him consider the fellow again, and the longer he stared at James, the less he saw the ambitious nuncius regis who had betrayed him, and the more he saw a scared, rather pathetic young man entering his middle age, who had been facedwith a ghost from his past that terrified him. It was not worth even pulling his knife to scare him further.

Newt gave him a slow stare, starting at his boots, passing up his body, pausing at the pouch on his hip that held the king’sown arms, and then travelling on up to meet his eyes. With an expression which he fondly hoped reflected withering scorn, Newt turned on his heel, and would have been long gone, except he heard steps following him in a hurry, and then felt thehand at his arm.

‘Newt! Come on, old man. Let me buy you a beer!’

Exeter Castle

‘Wife? You were away a long time,’ Sheriff Matthew said. ‘Are you well?’

‘Yes, dear. I went to look at the shops.’

‘What have you bought?’

Alice looked at her husband and for a moment she was at a loss. She rallied quickly, though. ‘My dearest sweeting, nothing! I looked at all the cloths on display, and they were poor indeed compared to what I wished to buy for you. Why? Are you anxiousthat I may spend too much? You know I am a good, thrifty woman!’

He laughed with her as she left the room, but when she had gone he took on a more serious demeanour. Seeing Sarra, he summonedher with a jerk of his head.

‘Right, maid, tell me where you have been with your mistress.’

‘Nowhere, my lord. But …’

‘Yes?’

‘She was taken a little dizzy, so I fetched her some drink, and she asked me to leave her to rest a short while so she couldrecover.’

‘She was alone?’

Sarra looked up at him with perplexity. ‘Of course, my lord.’

She could hardly tell him he was being cuckolded.

Exeter City

In the street not far from the castle, the man stood looking at the place with a professional’s eye.

It was not in good repair. Tumbledown would be a better way to describe it. Two towers were disintegrating, and the gatehouseitself would scarcely survive a puff of wind, from the look of it. No, it was no great shakes as a fortress. Not like Berkeley.

This city had seemed a quiet little shire town, more or less a little market town, really, and to see it like this, a hotbedof political unrest and sudden violence, was curious.

Alice was quite right to seek any help she could, but he wasn’t so convinced that a sorcerer was the kind of man to give usefuladvice. In his own experience, fortune-tellers and future-seers were the worst kind of charlatans. They took money and preyedon the innocent. He disliked the whole breed.

And just now he had little else to do. Perhaps in the morning the man Langatre would be back again. Ready to prey on others.

It was disgusting. Yet there was little he could do about it.

North-East Dartmoor

Simon was anxious now. The weather was closing in as the sun sank behind them. Although he didn’t slow to peer over his shoulder,he could gauge the sun’s position by his shadow, and now that it was reaching out for yards before him he knew that they mustseek shelter for the night, and that right soon.

Busse had grown more quiet as they continued, and his face was strangely drawn. When Simon glanced over at him, he was remindedof de Courtenay’s words, how this man had apparently gone to one of the dreaded necromancers and sought, by means of somesort of foul spell, to have his election guaranteed. It turned Simon’s stomach to think that a man — especially a man of God- could attempt such a thing. Simon’s was a simple faith, reinforced at every opportunity by the canons at Crediton church,where he had gained an education. Their exhortations, often delivered at the end of a switch to make the lesson more instructive,had rejected absolutely the idea of conjuring demons to help with any worldly acts. It was heretical to believe that an agentof the devil could assist a true Christian.

Perhaps it would be better if Simon and Rob could leave Busse out here to die … and yet Simon had always rather enjoyed his companionship before. It was odd that he should have fallen so far that he could have sought the help of the blackarts … he was a bloody monk , for Christ’s sake! In God’s name, how could he have done such a thing?

Even as he was thinking this, he saw the monk’s eye upon him, and he cleared his throat without knowing what on earth to sayto the man. Then he sighed in relief. Ahead, through the gathering gloom, he could just make out the lines of trees movingin the wind. There was a wood ahead, and he began to try to work out where he was. From the direction he had taken, this shouldbe the large wood just outside Gidleigh, where the moors lapped up against cultivated lands. Not far from here was Chagford,the bustling stannary town where they could be assured of a warm bed in an inn.

The first light flicks at his face woke him from a mild daydream in which he saw a roaring fire, a pot of warming ale, anda heavy joint of beef or shoulder of mutton slowly roasting. The scene was so distinct and alluring, it was hard to dismissit, but the insistent soft patters at his cheeks soon told their own tale.

‘Shit! Of all the foul fortune!’ He rested a hand fore and aft and turned in the saddle. Behind them, the sun was almost touchingthe horizon. They had only a very short time. ‘Right, Master Busse, you must continue straight ahead, and do not hurry. Keepwith Rob there, so that he doesn’t become lost himself, and do not let him flag. Keep on in this direction.’

‘What of you, Bailiff?’

‘I am going to ride on to make sure that we have a store of firewood before all the light fades. In God’s name, I only pray I have time to gather enough.’

‘Then go, in God’s name!’

Exeter City

Master Richard de Langatre should have been grateful to meet these two men, perhaps, but just at the moment he was feeling more thana little disgruntled. It was humiliating to be grabbed by this beadle and his shabby little watchmen! What did they thinkthey were doing? Was any poor professional to be man-handled like this without excuse?

‘We shall go to the Suttonsysyn near the guildhall,’ Baldwin decided. It was easier to ensure the cooperation of the coronerif mention was made of an alehouse of some sort, he knew.

‘That would be a good one,’ the coroner said approvingly, perking up considerably.

The beadle Elias if anything looked even more harassed. ‘I can’t allow that, master …’

Coroner Richard beamed down at him, but there was a steely glitter in his eyes. ‘I think you should remember to call us “sir”. Or perhaps “Keeper” and “Coroner”? Either way, my fellow, you will remember what your station is, and what ours is. Sir Baldwinhere has just made an excellent suggestion. We will follow it.’

‘But I was ordered to deliver this man to the gaol.’