Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

After that, though, as they began to make their way downhill and head out towards Exeter, their passage became a great dealeasier. Before long the snow was noticeably thinner, and they found that they could move much more swiftly.

Simon was only glad that Busse appeared to be happier to remain on his horse and reach Exeter than to stop and pray like theday before.

Exeter City

Baldwin and the coroner reached the widow Mucheton’s house as the sun began its slow descent to the west. Its passage high overhead took Baldwin’s mind far from here, to his youth in the Mediterranean.

At this time of year, the keeper was all too often reminded of the delights of sitting in warm sunshine and drinking warmwine as the sun glinted off the sea. That was when he had lived as a novice Templar on the island of Cyprus, immediately afterthe fall of Acre, when he had offered his sword in the continued struggle to protect pilgrims going to the Holy Land. First,though, they must win back the Crusader kingdoms, and for that Baldwin must learn to fight as a Templar, a single member ofa greater host.

The training had been hard, both mental and physical. Even though he had been learning the arts of a warrior from an earlyage, there was a difference between a single mounted man in hand-to-hand single combat and a knight who responded instantlyto the command of his master, wheeling into attack, turning to hasten away at the order, only to strike together again atanother point. This discipline, and learning how to wield swords, maces and war-hammers in unison, was exhausting. It wasnot the physical work that tired, it was the constant repetition, having to learn a whole new method of fighting, that woreout the recruits.

Then came the proudest day of his life. He was at last accepted into the order. The ritual was ancient: fasting, a night ofprayer, then the ceremonial robing in the uniform of the Templars, and the oaths. And all had been made to sound evil andfoul in the accusations made by the French king.

Baldwin would only ever remember that man with loathing. Driven by his own intolerable greed, he had seen the most holy orderdestroyed, her members harried and tortured, many burned at the stake, and all for his own self-aggrandisement. All to make him appear more holy as he tried to create a new crusading force — fused from the Templars, the Hospitallers, and all other orders — that would be mighty enough to win back Jerusalem. Under his own leadership, of course. Such power could never be left by the French king in the hands of others. With a force like that, he would be invincible.

The strength of the accusations lay in their terrible nature. Whereas a simple theft of plate or the suggestion that brother Templars had been involved in corruption would have earned the individuals concerned a period in cells followed by evictionfrom the order and installation in another, harsher regime, the charges levelled against Baldwin and his companions were soatrocious that the whole order must be destroyed. They had all been accused of heresy and worse. It had been said that theyhad worshipped an idol, that they had indulged in obscene rites at their initiations — even that knights had been persuadedto urinate on the Holy Cross.

That was the thing that worried at him always: the idea that a man like him, who had been raised as a Christian warrior, aman who had been so devoted to Christ that he had been prepared to risk his life in the journey to Acre, there to try to defendthe city against the hordes of enemies who stood at the gates — that a man like him, who sought only to serve God, could becomeso easily diverted in the space of an initiation ceremony as to discard the beliefs which had built in him in the past eighteenyears and perform such a hideous act. It was beyond belief. If any man had asked him to do such a thing, he would have hadtheir head off in a flash. It was ridiculous.

Was it as ridiculous as thinking that a man might try to murder another with waxen images? Perhaps. Baldwin shrugged. The fact that a man was accused of a crime did not mean thathe was guilty. There were necromancers in the land, but in Baldwin’s experience they were mostly men like Langatre: not evil,but usually well educated and clerical men who sought to increase their knowledge. Mostly Baldwin had thought them mildlylunatic, but that was only because he classed them in his own mind with a similar group of madmen, the alchemists. Both traileda faint but unpleasant odour with them wherever they went, the inevitable concomitant of their trades, but Baldwin had neverseriously considered them dangerous.

No. If there was a danger about the city, it was surely more prosaic. No demon had stabbed Mucheton, and no devil had throttledthe king’s messenger.

The house they were directed to was a narrow building with a jetty overhead that would disable any poor soul who tried toride beneath it. Just in front of it, the road had a dip where years of ill-use had caused the surface to collapse. Riderswould ride down into it, and duck, only to find, as their mount clambered up the farther side, that there was not enough heightfor them. Many men must have fallen here, he thought.

‘This the place?’ Coroner Richard boomed.

‘Friend, please.’ Baldwin winced.

‘What?’

‘Please try to be quieter, my friend. This woman has only just recently been widowed. She needs care and tact.’

‘Of course she does!’ Coroner Richard exclaimed. ‘ ’Strordinary thing to say. What, do you think I would be clumsy or rudeto her? Hey? Hah! Come, now. Let us know whether the wench is in before you begin to give me instruction in manners, eh?’

John of Nottingham woke with an ache in his belly. It was a dull, annoying sensation, the sort of mild griping that wouldmake a man unsettled in his spirits, but John was strong. He stood, walked to the little altar he had created in the cornerof his room, and prayed for some little while, asking for God’s strength in his enterprise.

If he had been asked, John would have been surprised that anyone could look on his prayers as anachronistic. To him, the authorityof the spells he attempted came from the power of the divine words he was using. These words, when woven into certain specificspells, could so terrify a demon that he would instantly fall under the power — the spell — of the necromancer. But if a manwere to use God’s own holy name, how could he hope to achieve anything unless he was himself filled with a love of God andreverence for Him? So even if he were attempting maleficium , the fact of his own belief made John convinced that he was a pious man. It was just that the use of demons offered a fasterroute to success.

His belly was empty, though, and today that would interrupt his work. He had been through this before, oh, so many times. Today he would take a break, drink a little water, and visit the local church. Celebrating mass always had the effect of calminghis nerves when he was at this late stage of work.

Later, when he was soothed by the rituals, he would return. Already the first of the figures was complete, and the secondand third were roughly formed. Soon all four would be ready.

Exeter Castle

Jen was walking past the main hall as her master ate his lunch. As she entered, she saw him again — oh! He was so perfect, sittingthere in his great chair, like a king on his throne! The sight of him made her feel weakly. There was a feeling of warmthin her groin, a rush of blood in her heart, and she was almost ready to faint for a moment. Then, with fortune, Sarra arrivedbehind her, and pulled her away.

‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.

Jen raised her chin. ‘What did you pull me away for?’

‘Look, Jen, I don’t know what’s got into you, but you mustn’t stand staring at him. He’ll grow angry and throw you out. Metoo, if he’s in the mood.’