Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

Soon he would be finished, and the bishop could take his place beside the model of the king.

Exeter City

The coroner had left Baldwin soon after they walked from Madam Mucheton’s house, muttering about having to go and ensure thatthe inquests were properly recorded. Meanwhile Baldwin had walked slowly and musingly along the street up to the Carfoix,where he stopped and looked about him.

This was a strange, bustling city. Baldwin had been to many European cities in his life, and most were similar: noisy, boisterousplaces, filled with excitable people who were devoted to making themselves a little more money every day. It did not matterwhether they were traders, merchants, hucksters, whores or thieves, all had the same motive: to win money from another.

Exeter had impressed him from the first time he had seen the city. It was spacious, secure within its walls, and for the mostpart filled with good, righteous people. But one man he could never bring himself to trust was the most senior in rank: thesheriff.

Sir Matthew de Crowethorne was a politician, and Baldwin detested those who put politics above all else. Sheriffs were notoriousfor their corruption, but there was something about Sir Matthew that struck Baldwin as worse.

All sheriffs would occasionally misuse their powers. Some did it to take money — in bribes, or even in corrupt handling of legalcases, charging money to release known felons. Others would not require direct financial gain: they committed their crimesto demonstrate their loyalty to or support for a lord. There were many sheriffs who were in the pocket of the Despenser family.

This Sir Matthew was certainly happy to take money in return for favours, so far as Baldwin had heard, but he was also keento leave this city and make a name for himself in the king’s court. Not for him the daily trudge about the city performinghis ceremonial and legal duties. Better by far to recline on a seat in the king’s household, drinking and farting with therest of them. The decadence of the king’s court was almost legendary. The trouble with such a man was, he could not be trustedin Baldwin’s estimation. Most men would be keen to behave as their pockets dictated, moving with the whim of their financialadvantage, but Sir Matthew was not like that. He would be more likely to consider any decision with a view to how it mightimpact on the Despensers and, accordingly, how his prospects might be improved by judicious leaking of information to theking.

Baldwin frowned. There was still no connection, so far as he could see, between the murders of Mucheton and the messenger. It was possible, perhaps, that he was mistaken to jump to the conclusion that simply because the two men had died on successivenights, and their bodies had been discovered so close to each other, they must have been victims of the same killer. Perhapshe would be better served by considering both deaths as individual and reviewing them in that light.

It was not good for him to wander the streets like this, though. He craved peace, and just now he craved above all his wife Jeanne. Being apart from her was … unsettling. Curious, because in past years he would not have thought it possible that he might so swiftly grow dependent upon a woman. He had desired them, yes, but would never have thought that one could so entirely win over his heart. That was a surprise.

And yet perhaps it was not just Jeanne — it was also this situation. It worried him that the bishop appeared so determinedto have Baldwin sent to the next parliament, that Walter Stapledon was so keen to see him thrown into the bear pit of nationalpolitics. Baldwin wished to have nothing to do with the affairs of the realm. He was a contented rural knight, when all wassaid and done. Others sought glory and power, but not he. He wished to be left alone to manage his estates. That and a littlehunting was all he craved. There was nothing better in life, he believed.

He recalled the bloody stumps where fingers had been cut from that dead messenger’s hand. Could they have borne rings? Mighta man have detached the finger to gain access to a bauble of some kind? Or was the man simply being tortured for some reason- to say where he had money kept back, or perhaps to explain what he held in his pouch: which was the most valuable message? After all, Baldwin knew already that there was one important message in the pouch of the nuncius . The bishop had hinted as much. If the bishop were offering advice to the king that could be construed as disadvantageousto the king’s friends, or his wife, perhaps, either of them could be provoked into attacking Bishop Walter himself.

Which meant that a fellow who sought advancement, someone who knew of the bishop’s note, could easily betake himself to acquire it and sell it to the highest bidder.

But why harm the messenger? Perhaps because there was a verbal appendix to the note itself? Suddenly Baldwin felt close toan answer.

Simon was already halfway through his second quart of ale when he heard the booming voice out in the road. He paused, hisjug near his chin, mouth partly opened as he listened, and when his ears told him for certain who it was outside, he closedhis eyes in silent despair. He waited, listening intently as the coroner spoke. Every word was as clear as if he was standingin the room next to Simon, and the bailiff gained the impression that Sir Richard’s voice could quell any other sound andforce it to submit.

‘Have the bodies seen to. There’s no point leaving a corpse lying in the street leaking blood and guts all over the place,is there?’

There was a mumble in response, and then a guffaw. ‘You think the poor fellow would give a piss for that? Dear Christ in heaven, I know he’s dressed in a good suit. The watchman wants his suit? Tell him he can have it — but it belongs to the king, andif he wants to argue the toss with the king, he is welcome to do so. It’s none of my concern. The clothes are off him, anyway,so have them set aside in case the king feels a need for them, but I’d give the king a fortnight to decide. If your man doesn’thear, perhaps he could take them without trouble. Still, have the messenger wrapped in some good linen and have him takento the church nearest. They can look to him … no, better than that, have him delivered to the care of my lord bishop. The fellow was carrying a message from Bishop Walter, so I’m sure the good bishop would want to see to the man’s body as best he might … WHAT? Speak UP , man! D’you think I can hear you when you squeak like a mouse? Who’s to pay? EH? How do I know? Ask the good bishop to pay for the linen if the city won’t. Not my concern, is it?’

With the rattle at the latch, Simon felt his heart sink even as he heard the voice roar aloud, ‘BLESS MY CODS! Bailiff Puttock! Now there’s a sight to cheer the heart of a thirsty man in the desert!’

Baldwin had not enjoyed a fruitful afternoon.

Upon leaving the widow and Sir Richard, he had decided to seek other necromancers in the city, but had met with no success. Rather than speak to the sheriff or his men, he had sought out the beadle. At Langatre’s house he had met young Ivo Trempoleguarding the house, who had given him some names, but he looked dubious when Baldwin began to talk about maleficium.

‘If there was a man like that, I’d have heard,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Folks here wouldn’t have much to do with a man who triedthat kind of thing.’

‘I have no doubt,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But if there were someone here, perhaps he could keep his arts secret?’

‘Perhaps,’ Ivo agreed, but without conviction.

Baldwin soon had a list of three men to talk to, but although two admitted to telling the future, and one asserted that hecould perform certain veterinary functions for cows with sore udders or horses with colic, all looked blank when asked aboutmore advanced magic. Either they were very good at acting, or there were no men in Exeter who actively sought such assistance, Baldwin thought.