Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

The cathedral was chill in the morning air, and she stood near the aisle, watching the other folk there.

It was an interesting cross-section of the men and women of Exeter. Of course many would go to their local church rather than making the journey to the cathedral. There were twenty-odd parish churches in the city, after all. But among the more wealthy and those who wanted to demonstrate their piety to the world, or perhaps those who wanted to exhibit a new tunic, there were many who wished to be seen at the cathedral church.

Jeanne, from past visits to the city, could recognize several people, and she nodded and smiled to a few familiar faces, while reflecting to herself that some of them appeared to have their minds on matters other than the mass.

First among these was the man who entered with his wife as the bell stopped tolling. Jeanne was sure that she had met them before although she could not call their names to mind, so she smiled welcomingly, but as soon as she did so, and saw how Juliana’s eyes passed to her and through her, she realized that this was not a good morning for talking to them. They had clearly had an argument before leaving their home that morning, or perhaps on their way to the cathedral.

Daniel walked over to the men’s side, and Juliana went to stand alone near one of the great columns, looking to neither one side nor the other, but staring straight before her at the altar. Jeanne was struck by her paleness and apparent nervousness.

Before long, Jeanne saw another woman join her, and recognized Agnes, Juliana’s elder sister. The two said nothing, but Jeanne saw that they held hands, and then Juliana turned slightly towards Agnes and momentarily rested her head on her shoulder. In that moment Jeanne felt sure that Juliana was one of those sad creatures who was married to a man who beat her. Jeanne was suddenly convinced that Juliana’s husband was much like her own first man. It made her feel sad to see the woman standing there so courageously, her hand in her sister’s. At least Juliana had a sister; when Jeanne was herself suffering so dreadfully, she had no one to turn to. All her family had died many years before when a gang of thieves and robbers broke into her parents’ house and murdered them.

When the mass was over, she joined Edgar and her husband out in the close. Baldwin smiled to see her, but then she saw his expression harden as he noticed someone behind her, and she sighed to see that it was Sir Peregrine. She wished that her husband could learn to tolerate the fellow. It was understandable that he should be wary of politicians, it was true, but Sir Peregrine was only attempting to do his job in the best way he might.

At least today Sir Peregrine was not of a mind to discuss matters of high politics.

‘There are times when I wonder what sort of men we promote to keep the peace in a city like this,’ he growled as he approached. ‘Have you heard about our most senior sergeant?’

Baldwin shook his head, but his manner was easier as soon as he heard that Sir Peregrine wished to discuss business. ‘What of him?’

‘The God-damned moron has killed a man. Just some drunk who had too much ale and waved a knife at him. There was no need to slaughter him for that, but no! Our sergeant went in with his staff flailing and killed him.’

‘Have you held an inquest?’

‘No. I was only made aware of the matter just now. I do not intend to hold an inquest on the Sabbath, so would you join me in the morning to hear the case? Not that it matters: we’ll have to find him innocent. We can’t have people thinking that a sergeant could be guilty of murder. The cretinous son of a diseased goat!’

Baldwin nodded slowly. ‘If I find that he acted unreasonably, I’ll find him guilty.’

‘I would expect no less,’ Sir Peregrine said sharply. He sighed. ‘Perhaps it would be best if we went to speak to him now. If we hear his side of the tale, it may explain some aspects.’

‘True. If, as you say, the victim had drawn steel against him, that would be adequate justification for defence. Provided there were witnesses, of course.’

‘Witnesses can always be found. Damn his soul, he should have shown more caution,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘You can’t go upsetting the mob by killing someone when everyone thinks there was no need.’

‘Is there cause to fear the mob here?’ Jeanne asked.

Sir Peregrine looked at her. ‘There is always need to fear the mob, lady.’

Daniel felt as though every eye was upon him as he walked from the cathedral. Juliana wouldn’t look at him, not after their argument that morning, but he would have preferred that she took his hand. Instead she walked out with her sister, and the two of them trailed along behind him as he marched out.

It made him feel guilty — especially when he saw how people stared at him. Many openly contemptuous, having heard how he served old Ham.

He could not blame her, though. They had argued this morning. She had said again that he should leave Jordan alone. This constant fear was sapping her spirit, she said, and her panic was all too plain as she sat on their bed, cradling their children in her arms. After last night that was to be expected.

Last night they had heard it again: a strange noise downstairs in the middle of the night. He had put it down to rats at first; God knew, there were enough of them in the house. Every time he went and looked in the buttery, there were fresh signs of shit. They made him feel sick, but there was little to do, other than try to trap them or catch them and stab them, and he didn’t have time to bother with that sort of rubbish.

Yet there was something about the noise which wasn’t quite right. Juliana had heard it first, and she had waited a while, so she said, until she heard it again. A scratching noise, like a piece of metal rubbing against something. She lay in the dark, listening to it, and nudged him.

It was the same. Daniel set his jaw and rose from the bed as quietly as possible. A pair of boards creaked, but he crossed the floor to the open doorway with a long-bladed knife in his hand and stared down into the darkness. Last time he had heard this, he had sat in his bed and waited until he was quite sure of the noise, but not this time. He’d heard it before, and he was certain he knew what it was.

The fucking madman! If it was Jordan, he’d cut the bastard’s cods off and make him eat them! If that bastard thought he could get into Daniel’s house, he was wrong. Last time Daniel had given him warning by lighting his candle; well, he wouldn’t do that tonight. If the little shite was down there, he’d feel Daniel’s steel this time.

He stepped slowly, cautiously, down the stairs. Behind him he could hear Juliana quietly leaving the bed, the rugs and heavy skin rustling as she slid out, and her feet padding almost silently across the boards. He took the first step, listening intently. There was no more noise, only the very faint hiss of his children’s breath, and Daniel slowly and carefully walked across the room to inspect the window. Again, the shutters were loose, and the wind soughed through the gap.

Daniel stood with the flesh creeping on his back at the thought that a man might dare to come in here and threaten his children. It was terrifying. No man should have attempted to break into his home of all the houses in Exeter. That a man might enter his showed that the churl was entirely without fear. He must have the courage of a madman. Or be a madman.

‘Husband, do you think he might be in the garden? Will you see if he remains out there!’ his wife called.

‘Wife, I am unclothed. Do you think that it would serve any purpose to walk about in the dark with my ballocks dangling?’

‘Husband, if you valued your children and your wife, I should have thought you’d be keen to go and find the man,’ she hissed in return.