Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

The strange thing was, he hadn’t really known Estmund that well beforehand. Est had been one of the men Henry had known about the city, but they weren’t close friends or anything. Yet Henry was a generous-hearted man, and when Estmund had been so distraught he had wanted to help him.

It was that awful day when the cathedral decided that Emma had committed a mortal sin by killing herself after their child had died. Poor little Cissy. She had been so tiny when they buried her in her pit. Unbaptized, she was not eligible for a place in the graveyard, and Henry still thought it was that, more than her death alone, which had made Emma so disturbed and grief-stricken. To think that even when she died she would not be with her child in Heaven had been the final blow. If God wouldn’t have her Cissy, she wanted no part of His Heaven.

God! But when Est found her, that was a terrible day. For all that he was still suffering, Henry couldn’t feel regret for helping him. The man had lost daughter and wife, and then to learn that he was not permitted to bury Emma in the cemetery was enough to unhinge his mind.

It was good that Est seemed to trust him. Est was not the kind of man to get close to anyone, but he accepted Henry’s companionship. Before that dreadful day, when Henry won his wound trying to help Est, they would rarely speak. Few people did during the famine. After that day they sat together in companionable silence, Est staring into the distance while Henry lay on his bed, Est occasionally wiping his brow with a cool cloth. Some women from the street had come to help, and Henry was gradually nursed back from the brink of death.

The silence was good for a while, but both needed to talk. Est started to tell Henry of his life, of his past and his shattered hopes. To Henry, that meant they were both recovering. When Est was silent, Henry would talk until he grew too tired, and then Est would wipe his sweating face again, speaking of his love for his dead Emma and Cissy. There were few enough men who would bother to try to share their feelings, Henry thought later, but when the whole city was starving, when the likelihood of their dying in a short while was so high, there was little to stop them unburdening themselves.

No, Henry had hardly known Est before Emma’s death, but there was something in Estmund that had appealed to him: a kindliness and generosity of spirit. That was why he had wanted to help him. And perhaps too it was the damage wrought on Henry in his attempt to help Est that had spurred Estmund to live on. He had a responsibility again, someone to look after.

Just as Henry had too. He felt that he had a reciprocal responsibility for Estmund.

Reginald stared. ‘Look, Jordan, I don’t know how to get hold of a man to do something like that, and I’m not sure I’d want to, even if I could. It’s a serious-’

‘Don’t say “affair”,’ Jordan le Bolle said. ‘This is just business, after all. We have to stop this man.’

He was tall, with the calm assurance of a man who knew that he would get his way. That was a mark of his position and control: he always got what he wanted. His eyes were calm and unworried. There was never any need for him to be anxious, after all. There was no one in the city whom he need fear.

Such was not Reg’s own state of mind at that moment. Reg was filled with an overwhelming dread. At any moment, he felt sure, the other person who used that door would knock and enter, ready to throw herself into Reg’s arms or onto his bed. It was truly appalling. Reg knew that his partner was perfectly capable of murdering people — it had been necessary when they had first got to know each other, and the years had not altered the reality of their relationship.

‘Killing him would not be easy, Jordie,’ Reg said feebly. He didn’t hold out much hope for an argument of that nature. Jordan was too adept at debating his position. Reg had known that from the first moment.

‘Any man will fall when he’s hit hard enough in the right place.’

‘That’s easy for you to say. You’ve had practice.’

Jordan smiled. ‘And we’ve both benefited, haven’t we?’

Reg hated to see that easy grin. It was as though Jordie didn’t care about any other lives. Sometimes Reg wondered whether he’d even miss Reg. Perhaps he’d shed a couple of tears, but there was no guarantee that they’d be genuine. Then he caught sight of the expression in Jordan’s eyes.

‘We’ve lived this long without having to kill him, Jordie. Why risk everything now?’ His thin smile felt more like a grimace.

Jordan le Bolle ignored the interruption. ‘Yes, we’ve both benefited. I’ve taken many risks to bring in our profits, Reg. Now it’s time you helped. I think Daniel is getting too close to me. Far too close. There’s a risk that soon he’ll throw caution to the winds and try to take us on properly. And you know what that would mean, don’t you? If he comes in and stops our work, it’ll be the end of our easy life. The end of all this,’ he said, waving a hand nonchalantly at the chamber, encompassing the hall, the wine, the food …

But it wasn’t only that. Reg knew he was including everything, the chamber in which he slept, the bed where Michael lay sleeping … Michael himself, even. Reg felt a cold, clammy sensation about his breast, as though his own destiny was pressing a firm hand over his heart. His blood was racing already; this additional feeling was enough to make him feel slightly sick.

‘Jordie, I don’t see why we have to kill him now. It’s just a-’

‘Because I have warned him. I told him, Reg. I said that if he didn’t leave me alone, I would destroy him. I said I would kill his children and his wife and him.’

‘All of them?’

‘He even told his wife. Can you imagine that?’ Jordan frowned. ‘I wouldn’t tell my bitch about business like that. Why would he have told her?’

‘Jordan, there’s no need to kill them. We’re all right still. There’s no need to hurt any of them. Maybe we can leave things as they are.’

‘If we do nothing, Reg, all this would be at risk. Consider that.’ Jordan stood and eyed him, but this time it was not the friendly look of an old comrade and partner, it was the cold, intimidating stare which Reg had seen him use on others when he was about to strike. ‘All our profits from the cathedral, all the money from the whores, it could all be at risk. Think of that; consider it well. We must act.’

John returned to the friary as night drew in, and quietly made his way to his cell, where he sat on the little stool at the table under his window. The window was too high in the wall and too small to see anything, even a glimpse of the sky. No distractions, that was the founding principle of his Order, and he was more than pleased with it. The lack of property of any sort, the lack of interruptions, these were essential. It meant that he could spend his time praying and trying to help others to see how they themselves might add to the glory of God.

Not a young man any more, at some fifty years or so, John had become a friar as soon as he had felt the power of God’s word, and he flattered himself that it was in no small measure a reflection of his own efforts that the Order was so widely accepted here in Exeter. He had persuaded people to give their money to the house; he’d managed to convince others that if they wanted to win eternal life, especially if they had been wealthy in this one, they would have to aid the Order in its work. For if a man did nothing to assist the poor and the needy, how could he hope to win rewards in Heaven?

The only means of saving themselves was to give … to the fullest extent of their power. They must give up all, and make it over to the Dominicans. Not that the Dominicans owned property or treasure, but they required money to continue their work. And John had always been one of the men most competent at acquiring new gifts.