Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

Inside it was serene, an odd silence compared with the anticipated noise of a working building site. None of the workmen wasallowed to continue on the day of rest.

Baldwin and the others made their way to the northern side of the cathedral, where there was the altar dedicated to St Catherine,and stood about while the incense wafted and the singing of the choristers rose to the heavens.

Bowing his head beneath his hood, Baldwin listened to the service in the choir. The music was marvellous, as always. Althoughhe had travelled widely and knew the forms of celebrations in the more modern and contemporary churches of France, Galiciaand Portugal, he still felt most at home here in English churches, with their more restrained, simple services. In other countriesthere was too much extravagance, he felt. The plainer customs in English services were more suitable.

As always, the people standing all around were hooded and hatted respectfully. When the bishop came to raise the host up onhigh for all to see, they would bare their heads. There was a group of women near him, under the watchful gaze of a chaperon,while beyond them an older couple were sitting on folding chairs with leather seats and reading a book of hours together. The sole irritant to him was the woman behind him, who would keep up a relentless prayer for a son who had disappeared some years ago, which spoiled his concentration.

And then he saw the man: Robinet.

He was over at the southern wall with the watchman, Ivo. Baldwin recognised him immediately, and was angry to see the manhere, flaunting his freedom in a church of God. It was shameful.

‘Look, Simon,’ he breathed. Simon followed his pointing finger and Baldwin saw his neck stiffen.

‘Where’s Sir Richard?’

Ivo had tagged along reluctantly, but he wasn’t sure he understood what his companion was on about. There was some story aboutthe man they’d tried to find yesterday actually being an assassin who was going to try to kill the bishop, which caught hisattention, naturally enough. Where there was a job to be done saving a bishop’s life, there was also a good fee to be earnedas reward. He was sure of that.

But apparently the killer wouldn’t have to be nearby. Would not be getting up close with a knife or anything. No, he wouldbe a little distance away — but near enough to see the bishop.

‘What, he going to use a bow in the cathedral?’

‘Not a bow, no. But something quite as deadly.’

‘As deadly as a bow?’ Ivo said doubtfully, squinting up at him.

He didn’t answer. The necromancer had to be here somewhere. Not in with the congregation, not if he was going to strike rightnow … and he had to strike now. It was the only thing that made sense, attacking during this special celebration.

There!

It was a fleeting glimpse of blackness up at the top of the wall, where the new construction joined the older section of thebuilding. A flash of black clerical cloth, nothing more, and it was that very movement that told him he was right. Any otherman would have stood still and watched the service. Only a man seeking concealment would disappear like that.

‘He’s there.’

Baldwin saw Robinet start to move towards the rear of the church, his eyes fixed skywards, and he turned to stare up, wonderingwhat the retired king’s man had seen.

‘Simon!’

‘I see him!’

The two pushed through the laity towards the back, but even as they moved they heard the door open and the steady trampingof the coroner’s feet, the petrified girl bound at his side, his hand on her arm to stop her bolting. Immediately attentionwas diverted, and people craned their necks to see what was happening, some few, who were better informed, telling othersthat this was the mad girl who’d killed that servant over near the West Gate.

‘Come on, Simon,’ Baldwin muttered as he shoved people from his path. Then, at the rear, he found a clearing, and he hurriedover it. At the back of the church there was a ladder set up, and he came to it just as the girl was dragged to the altar. Baldwin cast a look over his shoulder, then began to climb. Reluctantly: he hated heights.

It was fortunate that the ladder was only propped up against a lower section of the wall. While it looked high enough to Baldwin,and set his heart racing, there was a dread emptiness in his stomach as he looked overhead and saw how much higher the walls climbed.

‘Come on, then!’ Simon said enthusiastically as he reached Baldwin.

‘Yes. Yes.’ Baldwin gathered his thoughts and his courage and took a deep breath before gritting his teeth and making hisway along the wall to another ladder. This one took them up to another level, and now Baldwin did not dare to look down. Thesound of singing and prayer came to him, but only dimly, because there was an unpleasant rushing sound in his ears. He hearda wailing cry, and it distracted him long enough to make him glance in its direction. There, before the altar, he saw Jenkneeling while the bishop set his hands upon her head, the coroner nearby, his head bowed, but his eyes fixed on the child.

Turning away quickly, swallowing, Baldwin continued. There ahead he could see the king’s man, and now he searched about forany sign of their quarry.

Up here, the walls were a mass of confusing blocks of stone. There was a great scaffold erected, with good poplar boughs lashedtogether, but the uneven nature of the building work made it difficult to see. The man could be anywhere along here, onlya matter of feet away, and Baldwin would not spot him.

But then he did. He saw a sandalled foot between two lumps of rock. John of Nottingham was the other side of them, sittingin a vantage point where no one could see him, but from where he could see all that was going on below.

Baldwin signalled to Simon, and began to creep nearer.

It was perfect up here. John of Nottingham smiled to himself as he drew out the figure and gazed at it, wiping the brow smooth with a rough thumb. Down below, there was a sudden hiss and rush as all the congregation bowed their heads and pulledoff hats or drew back their hoods, and the bishop lifted his hands high overhead with the host, praying.

John took the small antler pin from his purse and waited a moment, then set it at the figure’s temple. He peered down again,and slowly pushed it into the waxen head.

At first he would have said that nothing appeared to happen. The bishop continued his prayer loudly, unfalteringly, and withdetermination, but then, as John pushed the pin all the way in, and felt the point at the far side of the skull, he was surethat he saw the bishop stumble over a few words. The host was set down on the table, and the bishop shook his head. Yes! Itwas working.

The efficacy was proved. He took out the pin, and held it over the figure’s heart. Uttering a prayer of his own for the successof his effort, he was about to push it in when there was a scrape of rubble behind him. It urged him on, and the pin had justbegun to penetrate the breast when a bright blue steel blade appeared in front of him. It flicked, and the pin was jerkedfrom his hand, to whirl over and over, away from him, down to the floor.

‘ No-o-o! ’

‘Keep still, man, or you’ll be joining it,’ Baldwin said. ‘Come round here, and don’t be foolish.’

John was staring down in dismay. There was nothing on him. Nothing at all — not even a little knife to stab at the thing inhis hands. Yet he must … he took the figure in his hands, and slammed it down on the edge of the wall in front of him. The head was dented badly. He did it again, and the head snapped off, falling to bounce on the floor of the cathedral.

‘There!’

Ivo was behind Robinet when they both heard the voices behind them. Robinet stared, and then his brow cleared as he saw how hehad walked past John without seeing him. He started off in a hurry, and almost knocked Ivo down as he hurtled along the wallto where John knelt, smiling up at Baldwin.