Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

Baldwin was about to chuckle when he caught sight of Daniel’s face. ‘Is this true, man?’

‘He breaks in every so often. Not every night, but now and again.’

‘Has he been seen?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.

‘I’ve seen him, so’s Cecily here. If you want more, speak to anyone round here. Several of us have caught him in our homes, Reginald Gylla for one. It’s not only me.’

‘Why does he break in?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Is he a common draw-latch, or is there some other reason?’

Daniel looked over at his daughter, and this time there was no anger in his expression. She could see what looked oddly like a tear in the corner of his eye. ‘Come here, child.’ Putting his arm about her, he continued: ‘There is a story that he’s a man who lost his own family years ago in the famine: Estmund Webber. There are so many … he just covets the kids.’

‘He intends no harm, then?’ Peregrine said.

‘Not yet,’ Daniel said. ‘But a man who walks abroad at night and enters your house is enough of a cause for fear, isn’t he?’

Baldwin’s eyes went from her father to Cecily’s own face as he agreed. ‘It is never good to learn that a man can break into your home with impunity. Not when you have children to protect. Tell me, though. Do you have no locks, no bars? How does he enter?’

‘I have bars on the shutters and doors, but there is one which is old and wooden. I’ll show you.’

He rose, setting Cecily down on her feet, then led the way out through the rear door to the small chamber where his children slept. ‘Look!’ he said, and strode to the barred window at the back of the room. ‘He climbs in here.’

‘What of the shutter?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Do you not lock that if you fear an intruder?’

‘Certainly we do. The shutter used to be a simple dropping board, with a thong to latch it closed, but the man was opening it. He must have used a long knife to push up the bar.’

‘I saw it!’ Cecily squeaked. ‘A big long dagger, it was.’

‘Aye, well,’ Daniel confirmed. ‘So I had my men put up these new ones instead.’

He demonstrated the newer hinged shutters, pulling them closed. They were built of strong wood and a large metal bracket was set in each. When the shutters were drawn closed, a beam of heavy wood, hinged at one end, could be turned up and over to drop through the brackets. A peg set into the wood completed the lock by stopping the beam from rising again once it had fallen to rest in the metal fixings. ‘This should deter any robbers, but it didn’t stop this fellow,’ he said.

‘How did he get in?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Look for yourself.’

Baldwin went to the window, removed the peg and lifted the bar from the brackets. Pushing the shutters open, he sprang out lightly, then pushed the shutters closed once more. ‘Edgar, put the bar across again.’

His servant roused himself sufficiently to obey, and they all waited, listening to the scrabbling and scraping as Baldwin tried to open the shutters on his own. Soon they saw a blade appear between the two edges. It lifted and moved, and the beam shifted slightly, rising to hit the peg, but then it fell.

In answer to his master’s enquiry, Edgar spoke. ‘No. That way, it’d take all night to move the beam an inch, Sir Baldwin.’

There was a muffled curse, and then, ‘Edgar, open the shutters again. And bring a light. A candle will do.’ When his servant obeyed, Baldwin was still outside, this time peering at the wood with interest. He took the candle and held it on one side of each shutter in turn while he peered at the other side, looking for cracks and weaknesses. ‘I see. Lock them again.’

Edgar did so, smiling at Cecily as though this was all a normal part of his duties, and waited. A few moments later there was a scratching noise, and then the wooden peg fell from its hole and dangled at the end of its restraining string. Only a short time later the bar jerked a little and lifted. It rose until it was free of the bracket, and the shutter opened.

‘A simple task,’ Baldwin said. ‘You need a better craftsman to build your shutters in future.’

Daniel gave grudging acknowledgement. ‘I didn’t expect you to find it so swiftly.’

‘How is it done?’ Sir Peregrine asked with interest.

‘There is a long splinter in one plank,’ Baldwin explained. ‘When you prise it to one side, it reveals where the carpenter’s auger pierced the timbers to make the hole for the peg. Slide a knife’s point into that little hole, and you push out the peg. Once that’s done, all you need do is lift the bar. Very easy. So!’ he concluded, clapping his hands with decision. ‘Replace that shutter, or cover the splinter with a fresh piece of timber, and the draw-latch will be prevented from entering again.’

‘My thanks,’ Daniel said sarcastically. ‘And in the meantime, if he is still determined, what then?’

Sir Peregrine was able to answer that. ‘It is a man going about at night with a dagger and entering your property, my friend. You know what you can do to him. Kill him.’

He was dead. Fitting that the man should have been granted the privilege of dying not only in the friary, but actually on the Sabbath! That was a rare honour, and reflected the pride which John had felt in winning this man for the Order.

Not that the Bishop would want to see it that way, of course. And there could be some fighting about the way that the friary had taken the man’s money already. Still, the money had been bequeathed before his death, and then passed over to the friary. If the canons on the cathedral close wanted to impose new rules affecting everyone, it was only their own fault if people sought means to evade the new costs. Why should the friary obey the cathedral? The latter demanded ancient rights and privileges to be honoured by all, but then trampled on the rights of the newer Orders like John’s. The canons were only fools who segregated themselves a little, when all was said and done. They had no real part to play in the new world.

John saw to the cleaning of the body, setting the limbs neatly before wrapping it in a spotless linen winding sheet. At last he straightened up, wiping his hands dry after dipping them in a bowl of water, and then stood surveying his work. A little while later he left Robert and two other friars to carry the man to the altar, and made his way to the private cell of the Prior.

‘He is dead?’

Prior Guibert was a tall, thin, almost emaciated man whose cadaverous features and great height gave the impression of feebleness of spirit, yet no one who had heard him preach could believe that he was about to expire from exhaustion or age. Although he appeared ancient, Guibert still possessed the same mental focus which had led to his election as one of the diffinitores , the senior officers of the Friars Preacher who could decide all matters of discipline within the Order.

‘He is dead.’

Guibert smiled thinly, and wiped a hand over his bald pate, a gesture that invariably indicated that he was concentrating hard. He brought his hand down over his forehead and held it a moment in front of his eyes as though the darkness could aid his focus, and then slowly withdrew it.

John felt his heart swell to see his master’s face clear. The fine, bright blue-grey eyes gazed into the distance for a while as though unaware of John or the walls of the cell itself. In his face John could see only certainty. This was a man who knew his position in the world and the importance of his role in it.

No, it was more than that. Guibert was entirely honest and decent. He had only ever sought to improve the priory to better help the poor of the city. His integrity was beyond compare, his vision and intellect superior to all others.