Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

‘I’ve been to a couple of taverns and alehouses in the last day or so,’ he said. ‘There’s a lad I know, Art, who often knowswho could be involved in crimes like James’s murder.’

‘Whoever killed James wouldn’t be there bragging about killing a king’s messenger, would he?’

‘You’d be surprised how thick some churls can be,’ Walter said with a slight grin. ‘I’ve known men do just that. And then they lookshocked when they realize you have slipped a knife into their chests for their boasting. I killed a man once who spent allthe evening in an alehouse regaling me with stories of how he planned to kill the king. He was going to sit near the roadsideand plead for alms like any beggar, and when the king was near enough, leap forward to stab him. As if the king wouldn’t haveenough men all about him to protect him from some adventurer like that! It was doing him a service, killing him quickly as I did. The cretin would have suffered for days at the hands of the king’s torturers else, and died a bad death as traitorto the king. Aye, I did him a favour: a quick and easy death.’

‘Did you learn anything?’ Newt asked eagerly.

Walter gave an inward sigh. His mate wouldn’t listen sometimes. Perhaps Walter shouldn’t bother, but Newt ought to realisethat James’s death was not so bad. It was fairly quick: a cord about the neck, pulled tight in an instant, and suffocationwould have brought about a speedy end to his life. Better than many deaths Walter had seen in his life as an assassin.

He shrugged. ‘There was no one who admitted to seeing anyone kill him, no. But there are some hints that a man was in thearea at the same time as you two. A stranger to the city.’

‘Do you know who it was?’ Robinet demanded.

‘No, but some I’ve spoken to have said that he seems to be an oddity. Tall, scrawny, pale — does it sound like the one yousaw?’

Newt considered for a long while. He had only the vaguest of ideas of the man he’d seen — it had been such a fleeting glimpse … and yet, if he were honest, the man he’d seen had appeared shorter, more thickset. Not at all likea slim, tall fellow. ‘I suppose if he was seen by a very short man, he might appear tall?’

Walter laughed. ‘No! These men I spoke to were sensible enough. They know the difference between tall and short, believe me!’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Newt asked, stung by his amusement.

‘They are thieves. If they noticed this man, whoever he was, they’d have made sure of him. They don’t go about robbing a manif he looks as if he’s going to thrash them. They can tell at a glance whether he’s too big or too strong.’

‘If he looked so weakly, why didn’t they attack him, then?’ Newt wanted to know.

‘Because he clearly had little or no money about him. If he had anything, they would have captured him.’

Newt stood. ‘Where is he, then?’

‘Hold hard! Before you decide to run off and attack him, what will you do?’

‘If he’s the man who killed James …’

‘That is the problem, Newt. The “if”. You don’t know it was him any more than the pope.’

‘The pope isn’t here in Exeter.’

‘Perhaps not, but just because a stranger is down here doesn’t mean he killed James.’

Newt sat down again, more heavily. ‘Then what should I do?’

‘Watch him. The men told me where he is staying, and if we go there and wait, no doubt we’ll see something if he was the one.’

‘And how will we be able to tell that?’ Newt scoffed. ‘Look to see whether he’s got plenty of blood all over him, or just wait and watch to see whether he’s likely to kill someoneelse?’

Walter turned his full attention on him, and Newt was suddenly aware of him. Those firm eyes were unsettling at the best oftimes, but just now Newt felt transfixed by that look — it was like being pierced by a lance and pinned to a wall.

‘Walter, I did not mean to say …’ He wasn’t sure what he meant, but he was quite sure that this man was too dangerousto upset, and at the moment he felt sure that he had done just that. ‘Walter, I am sorry.’

Gradually the intensity of Walter’s stare declined, and he nodded. ‘That is how we’ll know,’ he said. ‘When I have studiedthe man, I’ll be able to tell you whether he killed James or not. And when we know that, we’ll know what to do.’

Robinet agreed effusively. He believed his old comrade. No one would be able to endure that stare for very long. He had himselffelt like a rabbit caught in a snare, being watched like that.

But then, he knew that Walter was a professional killer.

Exeter Castle

Jen was in the bedroom, tidying and shaking out blankets and pillows, when it happened.

Afterwards there was only shock, utter, utter shock, that she could have behaved so, but at the time it was just natural.

She was there, in the bedroom, and she could see the side where Madam Alice slept, all neat, her slim body outlined in thedips and curves of the mattress. The other side was where he slept. The impression was broader, with the indentations of a masculine frame, and Jen stood looking down on it for a longwhile before she did it.

Bending, she put her nose to it, snuffing his strong, musky odour. She started at his pillow, and slowly, teasingly, drewher face down the bed, tormenting herself with the protracted investigation. That was where his neck would have lain; that where his breast began; there would be his upper belly; here where his middle belly rested … and this, this was where his groin lay. She sniffed long and hard, and then merely smelling him wasn’t enough and she had to do more. Placingher hands on the mattress reverentially, she allowed her face to touch the linen. She rested it there, feeling the thrillof being there, where he lay naked each night, until the excitement was too much and she had to do more. Rubbing her face in his scent made her quite light-headed, and she almost purred for sheer delight as she moved hercheek up and along like a cat in catmint. It was marvellous.

She climbed onto the bed, her body naturally resting in the outline of her master, eyes closed, dreaming that he was thereunder her, in her, and then there was a scream.

‘What are you doing there?’

Jen leaped from the bed, flustered, flushed, but not scared. ‘Mistress, I was cleaning in here.’

‘You were resting on my bed, you hussy!’ Lady Alice spat.

‘I haven’t finished,’ Jen said haughtily. This woman was soon to be giving up her place. She didn’t realise it yet, but herhusband had fallen hopelessly in love with Jen. Jen knew it. Perhaps Jen should have been more compassionate, but it was noteasy with a woman who was so foolish and didn’t give her husband the love he so richly deserved.

‘You are finished, wench! Fetch your belongings right now, and be gone! I will not have a lazy churl trying to sleep in my bed.’

‘It’s not yours, it’s the sheriff’s bed,’ Jen said.

Alice was silent a moment, but then the worst imaginable thing happened. She glanced from Jen to the bed with a small frown;her mouth fell open as she took in Jen’s disrespectful demeanour, and then she laughed aloud, long and hard.

‘You don’t! Surely you don’t think that my husband could desire you, do you? He is a great man, a knight, sheriff and representativeof the king, and you think he could desire you, a scruffy little maidservant from the back of beyond? Child, you are morestupid than I had thought!’

‘I’ll finish here, then,’ Jen said with determination.

‘No. You will go. Now.’ All humour had left Alice’s face. Instead there was a steely firmness. ‘You are not wanted here anymore.’