Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

‘Leave us, Langatre.’

‘I will not! You are committing a gross offence on that man, and I will not permit it!’

‘You will learn to keep your silence.’

‘Why? So you can execute him? What if he is telling the truth? What if he is nothing more than an innocent tradesman who rented a room to a stranger? You are performing a foul injustice on him. Out of my way!’

‘You don’t know what you’re doing, Langatre. Leave me with him for a few more minutes. He will tell me where the murdereris.’

‘You are no better than a murderer yourself. I will not leave you. I demand that you release this man to me instantly. Ivo? Ivo ! Get in here. If he tries to harm that man even by so much as a scratch, you will strike him with your staff.’

‘Master, I don’t think …’

‘I am sure you’re right and fortunately there is no need for you to do so! If he so much as scratches that man, you knockhim down. Do you hear me? Right, now, Master Michael, you come with me. This man will not harm you any more.’ Langatre pushedpast Robinet and leaned down to help Michael to his feet. ‘Come, fellow. Where is the nearest leech?’

Exeter Castle

Coroner Richard was unhappy to see the girl bound, wretched and groaning with despair, but he wasn’t willing to risk her grabbinga dagger and putting paid to another life. No. Best to see that she was kept controlled.

‘What will you do with her?’ he asked the sheriff.

‘She is a murderer. She should be gaoled until the next court is held. If the bitch comes before me, I’ll have her hangedin a day!’

Coroner Richard nodded. Understandable, he reckoned. The silly minx had killed off a perfectly good young servant for no reason. Well, only because she wanted to kill someone else and her blow went awry, which was not the best legal defence against a capital crime he had ever heard. No, he was fairly sure that she would soon join her dead friend.

There were some who asserted that extreme cases of dementia like this were caused by demons who inveigled their way into thebody of their victim, and then began to cause mayhem. The coroner had no idea whether that had happened in this case, buthe wondered whether it was possible. In some cases, so he had heard, the use of prophylactic flogging could bring on a recovery,as could the use of starvation occasionally. Perhaps this was a case where such a treatment could be considered.

‘Yes. I’ll have her hanged in a trice, damn her soul!’ Matthew said.

The Coroner looked at him without speaking. The sheriff was visibly shaking as his wife put her hand over his shoulder andtried to comfort him. He hardly seemed to notice her, but after a little while his hand rose and took hold of hers. Still,he could not speak without a quaver in his voice.

He was so knocked back, Sir Richard wondered whether he had indeed led the poor child on. Perhaps even raped her. It was hardlyunknown for a pretty maid to be bedded by her master, and if the master then thought that the mad bint was going to try tokill him and his wife, it would hardly be surprising if he was a little unnerved by the thought.

‘Aye, well, I’ll be leaving you now. Business to attend to,’ he said, and made his way from the hall, out into the court andthence to the castle gate. ‘Hoi, guard, where is the best alehouse around here?’

He was soon being given directions to the place favoured by the castle’s guards, and thinking that a tavern which was patronisedby the castle’s men at arms would be ideal for him too, he set off over the bridge to the High Street. But before he could reach it, he saw the grim face of Langatre hurryingup the street towards him.

‘You are in a hurry.’

‘I have been searching for you, Coroner. You can be a most elusive person on occasion. You must come with me to hear whathas been happening to the poor man Michael in his own house.’

Coroner Richard held up his hands. ‘Tell me as we walk. I have a need of some food and drink first, though. If you want totell me this tale, do so now and while I eat.’

‘You must come at once, Coroner!’

‘Why?’

‘The man Robinet — he has been torturing Michael. I had to get him away, and have left him with a leech.’

‘So he is safe at the moment?’

‘Well …’

‘Tell me as I eat, then,’ the imperturbable coroner repeated, and listened as he marched at his best speed to the tavern, Langatre dancing at his side as he tried to keep up. ‘You know this Michael?’

‘Yes. He is an old companion of mine in the taverns. He is a kindly man. He doesn’t deserve this assault.’

‘Then what was he doing protecting this necromancer? It sounds to me, from what you’ve said, that the fellow deserved allhe got.’

‘It is illegal to capture a man and torture him,’ Langatre said, and there was a fierce determination in his voice.

Coroner Richard looked at him for a long moment. Then, ‘Very well. But first I want my companions to join us. I will senda message for them to meet us here. Now, where is that bone-idle bugger of a landlord? HOI! HOI! I AM THIRSTY!’

Exeter City

John had heard the brouhaha as soon as the first knock came on the door. He had already packed up all his remaining belongingsagainst just such an eventuality, although it did not please him to learn that his place of hiding was already discovered. Still, at least the man who owned the house would keep his mouth shut if he knew what was best for him.

Quickly, he grabbed his pack, now considerably heavier than it had been originally, and threw it over his back by the stoutrope that bound it. He ran to the wattle fencing hurdles and pushed his way between a pair of them, then darted up the adjacentgarden all the way to the end, where it gave out onto the road near the south-western corner of the city wall. Once there,he set off eastwards. That was the way to the busy street from the South Gate, and once there he could easily lose himselfin the crowds.

He was still cursing under his breath as he reached the gate, and turned northwards again, pulling his hood over his face. In this cold weather, most people were doing the same, conserving their warmth as best they might, and he did not stand out. It was ideal.

Yes. It was annoying that his refuge had been lost, but perhaps it was all for the best. Now he had but one night to worryabout, and for that he knew exactly where to go. In the north-western angle of the wall was the old Franciscan abbey, butthe brothers had moved from the city a few years ago, to a new location outside the walls near the river. Since then, theplace that had held their cloisters and dormitories had become the province of various poverty-stricken families. There wouldbe space there for a poor wanderer like him, and no one would be the wiser. It was only for one evening, after all.

It took him little time to find the place. Soon he was traversing the muddy, icy paths, and looking for a dwelling that couldaccommodate him. There were several near the outer wall, but he didn’t want to be too close to the edges. Better to be entirelyimmersed. He would keep on going until he felt sure that no one following him would be able to find him with ease.

At last he saw it. A rough lean-to, much of whose thatched roof had long ago disintegrated. However, a section of it stillfunctioned, and when he peered in through the doorway he saw that beneath the straw there was a good space in among the rafters,and if he pushed the door up there he would be able to lie snugly off the floor, secure from the wet and hopefully warm enough.

Pushing the door up was a trial, but in time he succeeded, and then he clambered up after it, opening his pack and pullingout his book, and laying it reverently on the boards. Next was the blanket, wrapped about the first of the figures, and hetook it out now, peering at it with some pride. Tomorrow it would serve its purpose.