Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

‘ “And although he told her that without her, his life would be worth naught, still she refused him. And when he set to herto try to force her, I beat him away. And as he went on his way, he roared at us most fearfully that if he couldn’t have her,nor would any other man. My daughter would henceforth be turned into a pig and would never know a man. And this morning … this morning, when I awoke … this had happened to my little child!”

‘The wife turned pale on hearing this, you see, and she cried out, “But this all happened to me! Good woman, tell me what I must do to save myself! There was a man here today who asked me to lie with him, and told me he would pine for love of meif he didn’t have my body, and I sent him away with every curse my heart could summon. What shall I do?”

‘ “Good wife, there is only one thing you may do: find him and promise you’ll do all he desires so long as he doesn’t turn you intoa sow.”

‘ “Should I leave at once?”

‘The old woman shook her head. “You wait here. I shall fetch him to you. I think he lives near here. Do you prepare yourselffor him.”

‘ “Old woman, you are kind.”

‘So the old woman sauntered back to her cottage and told him to get back to his neighbour’s house, and he had a high time. And it only goes to show, you see, that if you want a vain woman, while she tries to protect her looks there is always a wayto her heart!’

Simon looked up at him. ‘You think that was a joke?’

‘Just a story to lighten the heart,’ the Coroner declared confidently. ‘Hoi, host, where’s your wine all gone? Is your barrelempty that you leave your customers dying of thirst in this hovel? Eh? Ah, Bailiff, it is good to see you again. I like yourfriend the keeper, but he can be a cold soul of an evening. Much more fun to have a congenial companion.’

‘Yes,’ Simon said meaningfully. His own thoughts were on his wife again after that joke. At least Meg would never fall forso foolish a tale. Turned into a sow indeed!

‘Yes. I was not glad to be sent here just now.’

‘What did bring you?’ Simon enquired.

‘Ah, thank you, my fine fellow!’ Coroner Richard declared happily as more wine was poured into his jug. ‘To answer you honestly, Bailiff, I do not know. There must have been something, for the sheriff asked me to come here to meet him. When I arrived, I learned that the city’s coroners were both away, and as soon as I got here there were these bodies about the place, so it was fortunate I was here.’

‘But the sheriff …’

‘Saw me briefly at the bishop’s palace, then at the castle too, but that is it. Since then, nothing. Still don’t know whathe wanted with me.’

Hearing how his voice had grown quieter, Simon shot him a look. The coroner’s eyes held a cold glitter suddenly, as thoughhis thoughts were not pleasant to him. ‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just musing,’ the coroner said. ‘Aha, who’s this?’

‘Baldwin!’ Simon said with relief. ‘It is good to see you once again.’

‘And you, old friend. This man is Art, son of Hal at the South Gate. He has an interesting tale to tell about a body or two.’

Christ Jesus, but his feet hurt! The way here with all the newer cobbles was hard on the feet, especially after two or threedays of solid walking. Rob didn’t know what was so exciting about marching from one town to another. From what he’d seen,walking and seeing other places was greatly over-valued. Better by far to stay in one place, and if you had to travel, thenbest to do so by ship. The less of this stomping over moors and cobbles, the better.

Where was he off to now? Rob watched as the little hunched figure of the monk scurried across the lane in front of a horse,which shied and made the rider curse, and thence passed over Carfoix and continued along the High Street towards the castleat the farther edge of the town.

‘Why couldn’t you stay at the bishop’s palace?’ he grumbled as he walked. ‘Hot rooms, beds, blankets, food, ale … what more does a man need?’

But the monk merely hurried onwards, and Rob had to stifle his complaints to keep up.

Simon had been quite explicit. ‘If he leaves the close, you have to stay with him. Don’t let him see you, but keep behindhim and watch where he goes and who he talks to. All right? If you do this well, there will be a reward for you. Fail, though,and you’ll get a thrashing!’

The threat was meaningless, as Rob knew perfectly well. The bailiff wasn’t the sort of man to punish a lad for trying hisbest and failing, but still he seemed to be happier for sounding like one of those modern knights who only ever knew how toget men to obey by threatening dire punishment.

If he were to be honest, he rather liked the tall, dark-haired bailiff. Simon Puttock was a great deal kinder than most mastershe’d seen before. Usually they would be content to issue a command once, and then beat a fellow with a suitable rod. Onlylast year a young apprentice had died after being whipped by his master. The man had explained that he had been trying toshow the boy the error of his ways after he had done something wrong — probably drank too much one evening or something. Therewere so many reasons why a master could beat his charges.

Puttock was different. There were times when he had been so bound up with his work that he had been ridiculously easy to fool. Usually when there were too many new ships in the port, all waiting for their goods to be assessed so that they might be unloaded. At times like that, Rob’s life was much easier. He could rise later and not worry about preparing too much food, for his masterwould snarl about going to a pie shop, he was in such a hurry, and that would be all. Still, the fact that he was trusted tended to make Rob more protective of his master, as though Simon was in facthis charge, not he his.

The monk passed through the castle gates and Rob could see him inside. He was speaking to a guard, but when he was finishedhe didn’t go to the steps that led to the little hall. Instead, he was taken to another building. Even Rob could recognisethe entrance to a small gaol-house. He watched as the monk entered, and then he sauntered over to a log by a wall to sit downand wait.

Bailiff Puttock would be interested in this, he reckoned.

There was a short pause after Art had told his story, and then Baldwin and the coroner glanced at each other and nodded.

‘He has some questions to answer,’ Coroner Richard acknowledged, and soon the three men were marching back down South Gate Street towards the old watchman’s house, Baldwin speaking quickly to Simon to explain what he and the coroner had alreadylearned.

‘The trouble is, old friend,’ he said as they approached the gatehouse itself and turned right to stand before Will Skinner’sdilapidated property, ‘we have no idea why anyone should want to harm a king’s messenger. The idea that a man should cut offa messenger’s fingers, too, is bizarre. I can only assume the fellow was being harmed in order to force him to answer somequestions — simple torture.’

‘Why would someone want to torture the messenger?’ Simon scoffed. ‘The pouch was there to be taken. No need to harm the fellowfirst.’

‘What if the messenger was aware of some other aspect to the note? Perhaps the bishop decided not to put all into writing? If there was some other part to the message that he dare not even commit to paper, something so dangerous that hecould only put it into the messenger’s head — what then? Perhaps a man might cut off his finger just to prove he was determinedenough to stop at nothing to learn what the messenger knew.’

‘It’s possible,’ Simon admitted. ‘But it is too wild. Who would have learned of something of that nature?’