Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

The door opened without warning, and she fled to the wall at the farthest side of the room. It was only a man-at-arms witha bowl of food, though, and he set it down near the door, as far from her as possible, before swiftly turning and leavingagain.

It wasn’t only the sheriff. All his men were terrified of her too.

Sunday, Feast of St Catherine 9

Exeter City

John was already awake. He was bitterly cold, wrapped up in his clothes and with his blanket over him, but today would seethe culmination of his efforts, with good fortune.

Others would have sat in the background and avoided any danger. That was not his way. It was important that he learned what happened. A man who kept away from the results of his work would never truly reach the highest level of knowledge. No. Far better that he should go and perform the operation while he could see the victim. Learn what he could from the work. Witness the result.

Robert le Mareschal had understood that. That was why he had agreed to go and view the last agonies of de Sowe. It wasn’tperfect, though. The man had largely undergone his suffering out of sight of Robert and John. Better by far that the experimentshould be nearer to hand, so that he could see what happened stage by stage.

The light was grey and dull. A good day to die, he reflected as he rolled over, trying to stop his teeth chattering, and lethimself down from his attic with a small bump. In his hand he held the one figure. The others would lie up in the roofspacehe had left. Later he would come and fetch them, when he was sure that he understood the impact of his magic. Outside, hestood a moment wrapping the waxen figure in a fold of his cloak.

Did he say a good day to die? No: it was a good day to kill. Especially that misbegotten son of a whore, Walter Stapledon.

‘So you slept a bit better, eh?’

Baldwin lurched to wakefulness, his eyes widening in shock as he heard Simon’s voice. There was a chuckle as the bailiff walkedround the room pulling on his shirt and hosen. ‘If you want some breakfast before visiting the cathedral, you’d best hurry.’

‘I’ll be ready in a moment,’ Baldwin said, rubbing a hand over his face. He felt rough and unrested, for all that he had sleptlong beyond dawn. He needed more sensible exercise, that was it. Less of this sitting in smoky taverns where the highest aspiration to hygiene was the annual replacement of therushes on the floor; more riding his horse and practising with his sword. That was what he needed.

Not much chance of it here, though. Certainly not today. He had to get to the cathedral church to avoid insulting the bishop,and with his intention to refuse to accept the bishop’s offer to become a member of the parliament, insulting him in any otherway was beyond contemplation.

He got up from his bed, scratching idly at the bites under his armpit where some bug had got to him overnight, and gazed abouthim at the room, a wave of dissatisfaction washing over him.

In the last year or two he had spent too much time away from his own bed. He had a young child whom he wanted to see growing,and his wife had another baby in her womb even now. It was wrong for him to be here, miles away in Exeter, when she was aloneat his manor. That was where he belonged, with her.

If he were honest, though, he should not be here in any case. His life was a fraud. Although he held the position of Keeperof the King’s Peace, if his background as a Knight Templar became known the king would remove him from his post in an instant. And if the Templars had not suffered arrests and destruction, he would not be here. He would still be in the preceptory in Paris, a bearded knight ever training to return to the Holy Land to free it from the hordes of Moors who had overrun the Christianterritories. Perhaps he would be dead, killed by a Muslim arrow or scimitar, in which case this new life was actually a rebirthof sorts. Perhaps he ought to think of new ways of working for the realm, to protect it from the ravages of barons like Hugh le Despenser. He had been saved from the pyre … was it possible that he was saved for something more important?

‘God’s teeth!’ he muttered, and completed his dressing. There was no more singular arrogance than that of a man who felt thathis life had a mystical purpose to it. Clad in his red tunic, he went to join Simon and the coroner at their table.

The fire was sparking fitfully in the corner, and the smoke was forming an unpleasant pall beneath the roof. Baldwin casta look up at it. The trouble was, so often a householder in a city like this found himself being passed off with rubbishywood for his fires. There was sometimes little to tell whether a bough was of good wood or rotten, whether it had been properlydried, or whether it was simply wood that was bad for burning, like elm.

‘I think that the good host of the tavern has been rooked by a deceitful woodseller,’ he muttered as he joined his friends.

Rob looked at the fire. ‘It’s the fault of the boy who laid the fire. He ought to know what wood will burn and what won’t.’

‘And you’re the expert?’ Simon scoffed. ‘You are hardly out of your bed in time to see the fire being laid when you’re athome in Dartmouth.’

‘You let the boy lie in his bed?’ the coroner asked, his mouth full of bread. He cocked an eye at Rob. ‘Didn’t I tell youyour duties last time I was in Dartmouth?’

‘And I do them, sir. My master is making fun,’ Rob said with a scowl at Simon.

Baldwin shook his head. ‘Never let your servants get the better of you, Simon. If he’s lazy, give him a good beating every so often. That’s what he needs.’

‘You may not think it much, but it’s a lot better than other fires I’ve seen,’ the coroner said. ‘Anyway, you should pitythose without a fire this fine morning.’

‘There can’t be many who survive without a fire at this time of year,’ Baldwin said. ‘I suppose that man Robinet may be withoutone, if he has taken refuge in some quiet little out-of-the-way place.’

‘True. I was thinking of the girl, though. The demented one in the gaol. She’ll be suffering for her illness.’

‘Which? The one who killed the servant outside Langatre’s house?’

‘Yes. Didn’t you know? She’s in the sheriff’s gaol. Poor little thing. The devil’s got her, right enough.’

‘Is she really lunatic, then?’ Simon asked with a shudder. He hated the sight of the mad, drooling and shouting at people.

The coroner was largely of the same opinion. ‘Yes. Thought the sheriff fancied getting inside her skirts so much that he’dappreciate her killing his wife to facilitate matters. Well, she’ll have a while to reconsider her foolishness in his gaol,and then he’ll have her neck stretched.’

Baldwin shook his head, appalled. ‘That is barbaric, though. The poor chit has a demon in her, but the sheriff should be consultingpeople as to the best way to remove it, not trying to have her executed for something that is beyond her control.’

‘Baldwin, you can’t tell us that a mad woman who has killed her friend and now wants to murder the sheriff’s wife shouldn’tbe kept secure.’

‘Secure, yes — in a hospital where her demons can be exorcised without harming her any more. She is no more responsible for her actions in harming the other servant than we are, if she has a demon inside her.’

The coroner grunted affably. ‘You are too kind-hearted for your own good, Keeper. Look, she must be guilty of some gross sinto be afflicted with this. Either some perversion or a crime. Why else would God have visited this dreadful punishment onher? Better, probably, that she is simply hanged.’

‘What, would you punish the child for something she cannot be held responsible for? It is madness indeed to hang her for anact that was the responsibility of the demon inside her,’ Baldwin declared.