Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

And that was the trouble. Today he and his companions were not ready. ‘Rob, go and see how the horses have fared,’ he said.‘I’ll attend to this.’

The lad walked away without even a sharp comment about masters who preferred to hog the fire, which showed Simon just howjaded the lad was feeling. He set to with determination. The fire had been banked up well last night, and the embers werestill good and warm, so he set about rekindling it. The tree which had supplied so much of their needs last evening was oflittle use. All the fine twigs were hidden by the snow. Instead he walked about the encampment seeking small sticks, and soonhad found a fair collection, getting himself thoroughly smothered in snow in the process. He bound them together into a faggotand bound it tightly together with green withies wrapped about it, and put it onto the hottest part of the fire, kneeling down and blowing steadily to waken the sparks. Soon he could feelthe warmth, and there was a hissing and spitting as the twigs began to take the heat.

He had brought a clay pot with him — he fetched it now, and filled it with the wine left in his skin. Setting it in the midstof the fire, he hoped the pot would warm gradually and not shatter.

‘Ho, Bailiff, and a fine morning to you,’ Busse grunted as he thrust his head from the shelter. ‘In God’s name, but this isa cold dawn!’

‘As a whore’s heart,’ Rob muttered. ‘Horses are all right, master. All stood together, and kept their heat in.’

Simon nodded, but his mind was already on other matters. ‘Prepare them, then. We shall leave here as soon as they are ready.’

Rob nodded, too cold to argue. It was Busse who protested as the boy walked back to the mounts. ‘But should we not break ourfast? Surely it would be foolish to set off without something in our bellies?’

‘Brother, I fear it would be more foolish to remain here in the open. We’ll soon start to freeze. Better to ride on and seehow soon we can find a house. A farm or cott. It matters little where we shelter, but we must get moving — if only to keepourselves warm.’

‘How long will it take us to reach Exeter?’

‘With luck, if the weather off the moor is more clement, we might reach the city soon after noon. It depends upon the mounts. If they can cope, we should hurry. It is only one league to the edge of the moor, I’d guess. Maybe a little farther. And thereare roads down there, which will make the going easier.’

‘Thanks be to God.’ Busse began to settle himself on the ground.

‘Brother, there isn’t time.’

‘I am a man of God. I have to pray at first rising.’

‘Look on this as a special dispensation, Brother. There isn’t time.’

Busse looked at him long and hard, and then began to pray, muttering a hasty Pater Noster , and adding sarcastically, ‘I hope that is not too slow for you?’

Simon shrugged. He had retrieved his pot, and now he sniffed at it. About to take a long swallow, he remembered his manners,and offered it to Busse. The monk drank with his eyes closed, as though this was the finest drink he had ever tasted. As wellit might have been, Simon reckoned. When the pot came to him, he sipped slowly, rolling the warmed wine about his mouth andfeeling the sensation of heat strike at his belly. It felt as though every inch of the liquor’s journey to his stomach wasdistinct, and every particle of his being thrilled to the sensation.

The rest was saved for Rob, whose need was the greatest of all of them. Today, when they mounted, Simon lifted Rob up beforehim on the horse. In this weather it would be better for him to ride and keep his feet out of the snow. Simon was happy thathe would soon be able to lead his little party off the moors and down into the warmer lands that encircled them.

It was a thought that had clearly occurred to Busse too. ‘Will it be this cold and snowy all the way?’

‘No. Usually the moors catch all the worst weather. We used to live north of Crediton, and there we could be enjoying a brightsunny day, and when we looked to the south we’d see Dartmoor with clouds above. Often in the spring we could be working in the warm, but Dartmoor would have snow. You could see it like a white coat lying on top. So I am hoping that when we leave the moors we should find the way a greatdeal easier.’

Busse nodded, but Simon could feel the man’s eyes on him, and he was struck with that anxiety again — not fear exactly, butjust the faint nervous premonition that this man could be dangerous to him.

He could have cursed brother John de Courtenay.

Exeter Gaol

It had been a miserable night for Master Richard de Langatre.

He had spent evenings in poor dives before now, what with one thing and another. There had been a deeply unpleasant littlecell just outside Oxford where he had been incarcerated for a couple of days before the error of his arrest had come to light,but notwithstanding that, this had to be the very worst pit in which he had ever been forced to spend a night. The walls weredank and mouldy, the floor a foul mix of substances which were best forgotten, the toilet facilities non-existent. Not evena pail!

He knew why he was here, of course. It was that devious shit Sir Matthew. The sheriff had made it clear enough that he didn’tlike men like Master Richard. Well, that was the sort of thing which he had grown all too used to — but he never expectedthis! The man had seemed almost beside himself last night when he shouted at him. Sweet Christ in heaven, how could Langatrehave guessed that the sheriff would fly off the handle like that! The worst that anyone could say about Langatre was thathe had been attacked and robbed, and yet here he was — he was — in gaol for his trouble! It was grossly unfair.

There was a skittering noise, which he had grown to recognise as rats, and then he heard the scrape of the bolts on the greatdoor outside that gave onto the castle yard. The screech of the door’s hinges was like a knife dragging down Langatre’s bones: a hideous, drawn-out metallic squeal of agony. He wondered if they soaked them in water daily to give the sound that timbre.

Footsteps crunched along the paved corridor, and stopped, so far as he could tell, outside his chamber. There was a silencefor a moment, then the rattle of a key in the lock, and the door suddenly opened.

He winced in the sudden light from a torch, peering up at the shadowy figures before him and fearing what the sheriff mighthave in store for him, but then he heard the welcoming bellow and felt his courage return.

‘Christ alive, man! What sort of sty have they kept you in overnight? Eh?’

‘Coroner? Sir Baldwin?’

The two slipped inside, and Baldwin looked about him with distaste. ‘I am truly sorry to see how you have been treated, Master Langatre. I shall ensure that you are released as soon as is feasible.’

‘I am grateful to you. I am not used to such conditions.’

‘Better get used to ’em, then,’ the coroner stated cheerfully. ‘If the sheriff keeps to his word and has you held for questioningby the king’s men, you could be here a while.’

‘But that would be daft! What could I have done? I’ve never even seen the king!’

‘The sheriff seems determined enough,’ the coroner said. ‘Perhaps he knows something else you’ve been doing?’

Langatre frowned down at his boots. These two seemed friendly enough, although that was an attitude which could all too easilydissipate. Still, he was in no position to conceal anything from anyone. The very worst thing for him would be to continueto be held down here.

‘My lords, look, I have done nothing wrong. I have certainly never tried to summon a demon.’

‘Tell us what you have done.’