Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

Baldwin nodded soothingly, but he was not convinced. Many a man, in his experience, would find it easy enough to go and seea doxy after too many ales. His courage would increase with proportion to the ales drunk, and all fear of consequences — thepox — would disappear until morning.

She saw his doubt. ‘It is true, he never used to go to them. I gave him all he needed.’

‘Did he have any enemies? Did he owe money to anyone?’

‘Bless you, sir! He was successful. A better provider I could never meet. He always had money for us. That was how we couldafford this house.’

‘So he never worried about money?’

‘No. Only that day he had made plenty of money. He was off to the tavern to celebrate.’

‘But when he was found, his purse was gone.’

‘I know. And we needed that money without him.’ She sniffed. Then she shrugged resignedly. There would be many more disappointmentsin the years ahead, she knew.

‘We have heard that he used to wear a bone brooch, too. Is that right?’

‘Yes, sir. A great circle of antler, it was, with a long, thin pin to secure it. A lovely piece of his work.’

‘But not something which could easily be sold on?’

‘Bless you, no! Anyone who saw it would know it was my Norman’s.’

It was late that afternoon that Simon and his companions arrived at the West Gate. Weary and hungry, the three rode up Stepecote Street towards Carfoix at the centre. Simon intended to see that Busse was delivered safely to the cathedral, and then hewould find a place to rest, while he tried to work out how on earth he could keep an eye on the man as John de Courtenay hadasked. At the moment, he had no idea whatsoever how he might be able to do that.

The sun was already low in the west behind them, and the token warmth it gave was already a memory as they reached the Fissand Gate and asked the doorkeeper to let them through. Soon they were in the close, and could release their horses to wander andcrop the grass. Rob was left with them while Simon and Richard Busse walked stiffly towards the bishop’s palace.

‘I am most grateful to you, Bailiff, for your efforts on my behalf,’ Busse said.

Simon nodded absently. ‘Are you going straight away to see my lord the bishop?’

‘I must. It would scarcely be right to leave him all unknowing that I have arrived, and I wish to give thanks for our safedelivery.’

Simon nodded again, but wondered whether he ought to try to stay with Busse even as he spoke to the bishop. John de Courtenayhad made it clear that he wanted Busse watched at all times, but he could scarcely expect Simon to be able to listen in toevery confidential discussion Busse had even with Bishop Walter. That was stretching things too far.

Busse’s next words solved his little dilemma. ‘Why do you not come with me, Bailiff? You should also make your presence known.’ Thus it was that Simon and the brother were soon in the bishop’s palace, while Rob dealt with the horses and saw to theireffects.

Sitting at the bishop’s table in his hall, Simon felt the anxiety of the last day slipping away. In its place was a marvelloussomnolence. As Bishop Walter spoke to Busse, Simon drank some of the strong wine with which they had been plied as soon asthey entered, and knew it was having its effect. He could feel his eyelids growing heavy in the wonderful heat, and his headstarted to tip forward without his being able to prevent it. With a jerk, he drew himself up again, and took a deep swallowof wine to try to waken himself, but the result was not as he intended. He felt his chin fall to his breast, and then he hada struggle to keep his eyes open. Only when he felt his hand slip from his lap to begin its journey towards the floor, withhis goblet of wine still in his fist, did he lurch upright again.

‘Do we keep you awake?’ the bishop asked, but not angrily.

‘This good bailiff kept us all alive,’ Busse said eagerly. ‘My lord, he was able to construct a shelter in the midst of the storm,and with that and a little fire he kept us healthy. It was a miracle, out there in the wilds.’

‘This is true?’ the bishop enquired, his head tilted as he peered somewhat short-sightedly at Simon.

‘Our passage took us longer than it should have,’ Simon mumbled. ‘We had to halt up near Scorhill in the woods there. Otherwisewe could have been caught in the open, and we would have died.’

‘I owe you my thanks, then,’ Stapledon said. ‘It would have been a great loss to Tavistock were this excellent brother tohave perished.’

‘I did my best,’ Simon said.

‘Good. I have rooms set aside for you all — but, Bailiff, your good friend the knight of Furnshill is here in the city. Wouldyou prefer to join him at his inn?’

After a short discussion it was agreed that Simon and Rob would take rooms with Baldwin, and the bishop sent a message tothe innkeeper to make a room ready.

Then, ‘So, Brother Robert,’ the bishop said, turning back to the monk. ‘Will you need anything from me while you are here?’

‘No, my Lord Bishop. All I need is a few little items, and a consultation. When that is all done, I shall be returning to Tavistock. However, if the good bailiff doesn’t mind, I think that I may ask to return by the slower, but perhaps more reliable,route, over past Crediton, and thence to Okehampton and Tavistock.’

‘Perhaps you ought to consider that, eh, Bailiff?’

Simon opened his eyes and looked at the kindly bishop. ‘Yes. Yes, of course, Bishop.’

What sort of consultation did Busse need, he wondered.

John of Nottingham returned to his small chamber as darkness fell in the alley outside.

It was a peculiar little twilit world, this. The sun was long over the horizon before it could make any impact here in thealley. The buildings opposite were only two storeys high, but that was enough to blank off the sun most effectively in themornings. By the time it had struggled over them, it was already close to noon. And then the full daylight lasted for a merehour or so, before the sun had traversed the alley and moved back towards the west. All that could be seen down here was anarrow gap of blue high overhead between the jettied upper levels of the houses.

But that was all good for John. He liked the dark. The anonymity which he craved was here, and the result was effectual safety. Nobody who would want to harm him ever came down this way, and if they did, they would be hard pushed to find him, searchhowever diligently they might.

In the chamber, he wrinkled his nose at the smell of dampness, and then set to lighting his candles. He had some old tinder,which he struck his flint over, and by God’s good grace, after only ten strikes, he had a spark alight. Wrapping the tinderwithin a handful of dry wood chips, he blew steadily until a flame appeared, and then it was only a matter of lighting thefirst of the many candles. Taking it up, he walked about the room, lighting all the tapers and rushlights, and when he wasdone he set the candle on his table, and reached for the image.

It was good. There was no doubt about that. The crown was a perfect symbol to guide the demon to the king. There was onlythe one king, after all. John’s prayers would make that clear enough even to the most simple of demons. Setting that aside, he set himself to crafting the next man. This oneand his father were hard. One was large and heavily paunched, while his son was taller and slim, strong and powerful. It wasfrustrating, and after working on them for a while he set them aside to form the fourth man.

This was easy enough: he had to fashion the correct features first, but that was no trouble to the necromancer. He had seenthis man’s face often enough in the last few days when he had gone to celebrate mass. The clothing was easy. Clerical robeswere long and designed to be practical, rather than objects of fashion. The hat was easy too, of course. A mitre was no troubleto a man like him. And as he worked, he felt sure that the stooping appearance was perfect. The way that the mommet peeredfrom narrowed eyes caught the essence of the fellow perfectly. Before he came to Exeter, the last time John had seen him hadbeen when he had been walking the streets of London after attending a meeting of financiers, and John had almost been knockeddown by the man’s henchmen as they cleared the road for his passage. Stapledon had not even glanced in John’s direction ashe walked on, his eyes set into that little frown as he tried to focus on the way ahead.