Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

He started talking again, about unimportant, irrelevant little things that he obviously felt wouldn’t upset her too much,as they made their way along quieter lanes towards the castle, and once there she heard her helper explain coyly to the guardwhy he was bringing the young maid to see the sheriff, and where could they wait for him?

She thrilled within to hear the guard answer immediately, telling them to wait outside the hall, and he’d have the stewardcome to find them when the sheriff was ready. Already excited to be back inside the castle’s court, she found herself growingfaint with expectation as they entered the hall’s little screens passage.

‘Maid, you’re coming over all weak, aren’t you? Look. There’s a bench here. Be you seated, and the sheriff will be here shortly. You’ll be all right, maid. Don’t you worry. Are you sure you don’t want a physician to see you? No? Well, you be seated there,and we’ll have the sheriff and the coroner come look at you. You’ll soon have satisfaction.’

It was a long wait, though, with men coming and going, some casting interested glances at the woman who remained still, covered only with a blanket that her protector had given her, and the hood of her cowl. She shivered periodically,although if asked she could not have said whether it was because of the cold, her trepidation, or simple excitement.

‘You the girl?’

It was a voice she didn’t recognise, but then she heard Will talking respectfully, and realised he must be important. Thenhe said something about the Rolls and called the man ‘Sir Richard’, and she realised it must be the coroner. Of course — hewould have to be present at any enquiry into a rape.

Suddenly she felt a panic welling up inside her. Of course her man would support her — Sir Matthew could hardly deny theirlove, could he? But he might find it difficult to explain her arrival in front of another important official of the king.

So be it! She would show them all how much she loved him.

At long last the steward came and spoke to the man at her side, and he seemed conscious of her condition, speaking kindlyand warmly to her. It took some while for her to understand that he meant her to follow him into the hall, for she was panickedby the sound of his voice, but then she realised he was talking quietly and understandingly, and simply had not recognisedher.

It was astonishing. Only yesterday she had been petrified of this man. After the sheriff, he was the most powerful man inthe castle, and he ruled it with an iron rod. Any maid found slacking in her duties would soon be evicted, and she would neverbe permitted to return while he lived. That was her belief, anyway. He had been so stern always. Yet now he was treating heras an honoured guest, and she could do nothing but follow him dumbly as he took her arm and brought her into the hall.

‘Well, maid? You have been raped?’

It was him ! He didn’t recognise her either. Ah, blessed Mary, Mother of …

‘ It’s her, husband! Can’t you recognise her? It’s her, I say! ’

Jen recognised that voice, right enough. She threw her blanket aside and stood straight again, seeking her enemy. There shewas, up at the far end of the dais. With a snarl, Jen leaped up towards her, but even as she drew her knife and raised itto stab, there was a stunning crack over her skull, and she fell to her hands and knees.

Groggily, she looked up. From here all she could see at first was a shimmering vision of boots and hosen. Her vision swayedand wobbled out of focus as she tried to hold her head still, but it was impossible. And then she saw the face of her beloved. Sir Matthew was peering down at her with an expression of … not love, but horror, as though she was a devil or a witch… She glanced about her, and saw that the men in the hall had formed a ring about her as though they all feared her. Theyhad weapons ready, as though they meant to slay her there and then. They all feared her.

She wanted to shout at them, to declare that they were mad, it wasn’t her, it was the poisonous whore’s whelp who stood therebehind Sir Matthew and held his shoulder, the picture of matronly virtue — but she wasn’t! It was she, Jen, who loved him,she who should be there now, with her man. But she couldn’t work her mouth. It was too hard. She was so tired.

Letting her head droop, she panted and waited for the blow to come that would end her misery.

Exeter City

Ivo was tempted to run through the house and grab some friends to come and capture this man, but courage was never his strongestsuit. Having seen how the man had dispatched Michael, he was reluctant to test his own skills as a fighter against him.

‘What is it?’

‘Didn’t you hear me, fool? He’s gone. And so have the figures, from the look of it.’

‘What figures are you talking about?’

He had approached to the doorway now, and could peer in as the foreigner kicked at tables and benches, overturning them alland hunting high and low for something. The dust was rising, and he chewed at his lip as he went about the room, prising witha knife at some of the stones, seeing if they could be moved, then carefully inspecting the floor as though there could havebeen a trap door hidden there, but soon he stood, breathing heavily and staring about him. A shelf dangled from the ceiling,attached by ropes. He slapped his hand underneath it, sending everything atop flying, and kicked at a small phial lying onthe ground. It flew away and smashed into pieces on the wall.

Only then did he seem to calm a little. Standing staring at the wall, he nodded to himself, and then called to Ivo. ‘Fetch me Richard Langatre. Right away.’

Ivo was nothing loath. He turned and hurried from the barn, through the house, where Michael sat huddled on the floor witha bloody rag tied about his ruined hand, being tended to by a maid, and out into the street with a feeling of distinct relief. Up the road he hurried, and pounded on the sorceror’s door.

Langatre had been sitting before his fire and thinking of the man lying dead beneath him when the banging came on his door,and now he agreed with alacrity to go and help the dead man’s friend.

‘I need you to tell me what this man would have been doing in here.’

Langatre eyed the wild-eyed man uncertainly. Although he was a knowledgeable man, there were limits to what he could achieve,and he was close to the limit right here. ‘I don’t know how much I can tell you, friend. This place is in a mess.’

‘He was doing something in here. What can you see?’

Langatre sighed to himself and entered. There was a table-top on its back, two trestles nearby where they had fallen afterbeing kicked, and all about a mess of broken pots and various tools. Some were no doubt used for maleficium , but in the main they looked like gardening implements. It was only as he tentatively lifted the table-top that he gave alittle gasp.

‘What is it?’

‘My bloody knife, that’s what it is! He must have taken it … this must be the man who broke into my house and tried tokill me!’

‘He was desperate to achieve something with the things he took. What else did he remove?’

‘There were any number of things … mainly tools that a man might use in cleansing his soul before … Hey, that’s myleather hat!’

‘So?’

It was possible. There were plenty of magicians who attempted conjurations, as he had told Sir Baldwin and the coroner theother day while he was in the gaol. Yes, some had tried such things, but the chances of success were minimal, and the dangers…

‘Well?’

Langatre scowled at him. ‘I don’t know what you normally do, man, but my job is to be cautious. Leave me to work it out and I shall give you accurate information. Hurry me and you’ll get something that is less use than horseshit. Is that clear enough?’