Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

‘What do you know of him?’ Coroner Richard boomed.

‘Little enough. I never wanted to meet a man like him. Always reluctant to tell what he used to do, apparently. You can’t trust a man who won’t even say what he does.’

‘Is that true?’ Baldwin asked Robinet.

Robinet shrugged. ‘He and I worked for the king. We did as we were commanded.’

‘You worked for the king too?’

Robinet set his head to one side and grimaced. ‘Keeper, I was a messenger. Like the man you found the other day down at the South Gate. I was one of the king’s men.’

The world looked a little improved, at first, from the bottom of a leathern jug, but soon the warming flood of ale was depleted,and all that happened was that Jen’s tears felt all the more unsupportable.

He had given her to believe that he loved her. That was the thing. Whether or not she had any feelings for him, he had madeher believe he adored her. It was his languishing expression that had made her begin to feel affection for him in the firstplace. She was quite sure of it. Not that Sarra could see it, but Sarra was so short-sighted, she wouldn’t have seen a knight’sshield if it stood in front of her.

It must be cowardice. That was it. He didn’t want to risk his marriage to the harpy. When Jen had flown from the bedchamberand sought him out in the hall, he had been surprised and then shocked and fearful, because his wife was there too and couldhear every word. Oh, she should have thought it through! If only she had considered, she would have seen how it must affecthim. He was too kind to want to hurt his wife, even if he didn’t love her any more. Surely he wanted Jen still. Perhaps evennow he was searching the streets for her, trying to learn where she had gone so that he could protect her and plan with herhow he could win his freedom. There was no possibility that she could live in an adulterous marriage with him. He must discover ameans of divorce if it were at all possible.

Although the bitch, his wife, might try to prevent him. It was the sort of poisonous thing a woman like her would do. Womenlike her, like Alice, who were born to high families, were frigid. They had no idea of great love. They were bartered andsold for position, like heifers. Surely she couldn’t seek to make him unhappy for the whole of his life, though. She had beena failure as a wife so far, not giving him his children. He needed them. All men did.

But if he was searching the streets for her, she must get up and make herself visible to him. Yes. She stood and left thetavern a little unsteadily, gripping the door-frame as she passed into the street.

There was a gap in the clouds, and the houses on the northern side of the street were lighted with a shaft so bright thatit hurt her eyes. She had to shade them as she made her way over the street and into an alley that led south to the High Street. There she turned left towards the castle.

The High Street was busy now as people hurried to find food for their dinner, and she was knocked about a little as she struggledonwards. And then, as she was coming closer to the castle, she stopped.

There in front of her was her friend Sarra, and as Jen was about to rush to her to beg for money, advice, help , she saw the other face a step or two behind: her old mistress, the poisonous bitch Alice, walking towards her.

‘So, master,’ Baldwin said. ‘Perhaps you should tell us your whole story.’

They had left the street, and at the suggestion of the coroner had walked a short distance to a small alehouse towards the West Gate. Now they stood inside, all with ales in theirfists except Baldwin, who had eschewed the drink in favour of a cup of hot water with dried mint leaves infusing in it. Hesniffed the brew every so often, as though the vapours could remove the foulness of the death he had seen in that undercroft.

‘I was born Robinet of Newington, although everyone calls me Newt,’ the man began. ‘Many years ago I was recommended to theprince, as he then was, and he took to me, and brought me into his household as a cursor , a runner. He’d use me to fetch and carry messages all over the country. As his household grew, so did my duties, and whenhe became king, he kept me. At all times, he was a good, fair and decent master, too.

‘When he was into his second year as king, he had need of more messengers, and he had me take a man on for him, to teach himwhat was necessary. That man was poor James.’

‘You could have saved people some time if you had come forward and told us all you knew at the time of his inquest,’ the coronergrowled.

‘And if I had, you would have arrested me for being his killer.’

‘Why should we?’

‘I was with him on the night he died,’ Newt said. He shivered. Telling his life story was the last thing he had intended todo, but once he began to speak, it was hard to stop with all their eyes upon him. ‘If I had come forward, I thought men wouldpoint to me and say: “He was with James, he must have killed him!” ’

‘It should take more than proximity to have a man arrested,’ Simon observed.

‘Should it? I taught James all I knew. How to find the best resting places, how to make up time when one day goes slowly, where tohave boots mended … for a man walking thirty-five miles a day, there is much to take in. At the end of it all, when hewas as good as I could make him, I saw him clad in my master’s uniform. I was proud for him. Proud! And then, with the endof the Scottish wars after Bannockburn, for a time all became confused. There was less need for messengers to go north, andmany men-at-arms sought new posts, since without the wars they had little to do. And it was rumoured that some of us wouldlose our jobs.

‘The easiest thing would have been to get rid of the older men. All of us knew it. Anyway, it was my own silly fault. I wasin my cups one day and admitted to the bailiff of my local vill, Saer Kaym, that the king had been forced to retreat from Scotland because he didn’t bother to attend mass, he was lazy, and indecent. Christ’s saints, the man enjoyed playing at beinga serf, making hedges and digging ditches. Well, news of my words got back to the king. I was imprisoned. It was not a goodtime for me.’

‘And the man who allowed this tittle-tattle to reach the king’s ears?’ Baldwin asked mildly.

‘As you guessed. My friend James was with me when I said those things to Saer, and he told the king. But the queen intercededon my behalf, and I believed my friend when he told me on the night he died that she only did so because he had told her whathad happened to me. Otherwise I might still be there now.’

‘Still, you did have good reason to wish to curse James at the time,’ Simon noted.

‘Yes. And when I bumped into him here in Exeter, I wanted to grab a knife and end his life there and then for what he did. Except then I saw his eyes, and instead of remembering that one crime against me, I found myself recalling allthe evenings by a campfire, or at an inn. All the dinners we’d taken together, all the ale we’d drunk … it made it hardto stick steel in his belly. And then I saw another thing — he was terrified of me. Terrified! Of me! It made me want to slaphim about the face, seeing that. So when he offered to buy me an ale, I had to accept.’

‘Did he tell you what he was doing in the city?’ Coroner Richard asked.

‘He was bringing messages to the sheriff mainly, although there was something for the bishop too. It was mainly the sheriff. Have you heard of the arrests in Coventry? There has been a necromancer there, who, with twenty or more others, plotted tokill the king and his advisers, if you can believe it! James said that he was here with special writs for the sheriff to arrestany other culprits down here, and then to have them sent to London to be questioned by the king’s own men.’