Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

‘Master Langatre has found a finger,’ Baldwin said.

Simon did not think that his captive merited much concern. After allowing the fellow to stand, and dusting down his own jacket,which had become spattered with mud and dirt from the ground, he sniffed. ‘Who are you?’

The man met his look with a fixed consideration, then threw a look back towards the house over the way. Eventually he grunted,‘I am called Robinet of Newington. Friends call me Newt. Who are you?’

‘I am a bailiff. Why were you watching that place?’

‘You’re a city bailiff? You don’t look like one.’

‘No, I’m not from the city. Why were you watching it?’

With a quick glance about them, as though anxious, he said, ‘If you want to talk, why not do it in more comfort? Let’s finda tavern or …’

‘Ah, no, friend Newt. This will do us fine, unless you want to talk in the gaol.’

Simon found he was being submitted to a minute inspection, from his worn and stained boots to his soft felt hat. ‘You threatenme with that before you know anything about me?’

‘You just tried to run like a felon. I don’t need to know much about a felon to have him gaoled.’

That brought a twisted grin to his face. ‘Fair enough. So let’s find somewhere to sit while you judge whether I am a felonor not, eh?’

‘Perhaps we can do that later, Master Robinet. For now there is the matter of a dead man in that house over there,’ Simonpointed out. ‘What do you know of it?’

‘Absolutely nothing. I was here to meet a friend, and as I arrived these men began running out and screaming.’

‘Who was your friend?’

‘A man of the city. He’s called Walter.’

‘Of Hanlegh?’

‘You know him?’ Robinet said with a smile.

Simon shook his head. ‘No, but we have been hearing a lot about him.’

‘Ah, that is a relief. Walter was here, but when I went to fetch pies for our dinner he disappeared. Where is he?’

Simon contemplated him. ‘Do you know who owns this house?’

‘I’ve met him a couple of times. A man called Michael, I think. Why?’

‘We will need to ask him about the man we just found in the basement, that’s why,’ Simon said. ‘Come with me.’

‘I’d prefer to wait here — I am worried about my friend.’

‘We’ll find him later.’

To Simon’s relief, he submitted. There was no point in trying to evade a so much younger man while he was alert and ready.

Simon saw that the monk was still in front of the house, encircled by a small group of men with staffs held ready. Simon eyedhim as they pushed their way through the crowds. The monk looked quite petrified, and from the grim expressions on the facesof the men holding him there, he had cause.

As they came closer, Baldwin and the coroner reappeared from the undercroft.

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, Keeper of the King’s Peace. This is Coroner Richard de Welles. Who are you, and for what reasonwere you watching this place?’

‘Robinet of Newington,’ he answered, studying Baldwin and then glancing at the coroner. He had known many king’s officersin his life, and none had justified trust. These men looked decent, but felons often did. ‘I was waiting in the street formy friend to return. I was to meet him here.’

‘Rob?’ Simon said.

‘I followed the monk here, and when I arrived that man was already stood over there and staring at the place.’ Rob’s voiceheld a heavy larding of glee. He was triumphant to be the centre of all attention. Even as he spoke, he was aware of otherpeople coming closer to listen.

‘Where is the monk?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Here I am, Sir Baldwin! Sir, we have met before when you visited my beloved lord, Abbot Robert at Tavistock. Do you remember me?’

‘I know you,’ Baldwin responded coolly. ‘But let me ask you the same question I asked of this gentleman: what were you doinghere?’

‘My good friend Richard Langatre had been arrested in error, and I had a lengthy conversation with the sheriff to ask forhis release. Naturally when I secured that release, I wished to talk to him for a while, so we came back here. And when wedid so, we had been inside only a short while when my friend needed some coals. I think he dropped some into a puddle, and I later saw that it was blood. It appeared to come from beneath the door, so I went to investigate, as any good citizen should,and there I found a dead man.’

‘Where is Langatre now?’ Coroner Richard called.

‘I am here.’

Richard de Langatre stood in the doorway to his own rooms, pale and faintly green about the face. He was wiping at his mouth,and his eyes were red-rimmed. ‘Sorry. I had to throw up. I’d had my hand in the blood, and it made me sick to think of it. I’ve been sick. Several times …’

His eyes took on a faraway look, and he would have fled back indoors had not several men taken hold of him. Their grip appearedto drive off the urgency of his need for a pail, but he was still apparently enfeebled.

‘He has spent the last night in the sheriff’s gaol,’ Baldwin reminded himself as he watched the man being tugged towards him. It was clear enough that Richard de Langatre was feeling weak, but Baldwin had seen others who had been pathetic and enfeebledafter committing murder.

‘I know nothing of this man’s death,’ Langatre said. ‘I was in the sheriff’s gaol all night, in God’s name. I only returned here a little while ago.’

‘And I was with the sheriff myself,’ Busse said eagerly. ‘I was with him all this morning until we arrived back here together,me and Richard here. I couldn’t have had a part in that man’s death!’

‘He is still warm,’ the coroner stated. ‘He has been dead only a very short time.’

‘But he can’t have been killed since we got back,’ Langatre protested. ‘We should have heard something.’

‘Perhaps. Perhaps not,’ the coroner said, his eyes going from one to the other. Coroner Richard was often thought to be afool because his voice was loud and he had an amiable demeanour — except when he felt he was being obstructed — but his mindwas as sharp as any, and it had been honed by listening to men who lied to him. Just now he was unsure how much these twomen knew, but he wasn’t convinced of their guilt. ‘What were you doing in your rooms?’

Busse leaned forward as he attempted to respond before Langatre could speak. ‘My friend here was offering me ale to thankme for rescuing him from the gaol. That is all.’

Coroner Richard looked at Langatre. ‘What else?’

‘There was nothing else,’ Busse said quickly.

‘I asked the man here, not you,’ Sir Richard shot back. ‘Well?’

Richard de Langatre licked his lips nervously. He knew that the monk wanted him to remain silent about his work, but as hestudied Sir Baldwin and Sir Richard he was suddenly reminded of the evening when they had come to his cell and promised tohelp him. Yes, even then he had been reluctant, but they had not been false. ‘I feel I can trust you to deal fairly with me,lordings. We came back here because brother Robert here wanted to consult me on a matter. He wished to know some details about his future, and it wasfor that consultation that he came here.’

‘Can you tell the future?’ Coroner Richard asked dubiously.

‘Better than anyone else in the city,’ Langatre said with certainty.

‘Did you learn anything interesting?’ Sir Baldwin asked.

‘Before I could perform the act, we discovered the body. It was brother Robert who insisted that we should investigate, too, I should say. He would hardly have done that unless he was innocent.’

Baldwin smiled. ‘I have known men who were bold enough to do just that. There are some who feel so safe in their brillianceat concealing their act that they bring it to the attention of the law without expecting to be discovered. Some even wishto be discovered. But I dare say you are correct. Brother Robert does not look much like a murderer.’