Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

Strangely, seeing his servant’s reaction made Baldwin more confident, and the look of sheep-like humility on Sir Peregrine’s face only served to strengthen his resolve.

‘Your husband was murdered last night?’

‘In the middle of the night,’ she agreed. Her eyes were turned to him, and they held a confidence and self-assurance that was rather out of place. ‘I heard a noise, and woke my husband, but before he could get down the stairs our daughter screamed. Cecily has always been a good sleeper and is not prey to mares at night, so when we heard that, Daniel grasped his sword and ran down the stairs.’

‘You went with him?’

‘When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw him struggling with someone. I screamed, I think, and …’ Her face had lost its composure now, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out over her brow. She lowered her face, and Baldwin was instantly reminded of an actor he had once seen, pretending a display of grief. His mistrust of the woman grew.

‘Continue, lady.’

‘I saw them fight. I saw a dagger,’ she said, but her eyes wouldn’t meet his. ‘And then my husband collapsed like a pole-axed calf. Straight down on the floor.’ The body had lain there like a wretched felon’s. At first she had wondered, but then she saw that although his eyes appeared to be staring at her they were unfocused, their ire directed towards someone else she couldn’t see. ‘He was dead.’

‘Who else saw this fight?’

‘My little Cecily. Arthur, my son, had covered his head, I think. He saw or heard nothing, or so he says. He is terribly young. Only four years old.’

‘And your daughter?’

‘She is nine.’

‘Your husband told us of the man Webber who entered your house at night. He has been doing this for long?’

‘Six years or so.’

‘And in all that time you’ve been living in fear of him?’

‘Of course not!’

Baldwin and Sir Peregrine exchanged a glance. Sir Peregrine was frankly surprised. Baldwin said, ‘But your husband told us that he feared this man. So what had changed? Why be afraid of him now?’

She shook her head obstinately. ‘I don’t know why Daniel was more worried recently.’

‘Has there been a suggestion that Estmund Webber is suddenly more dangerous?’

She shook her head again. ‘No.’

‘Daniel must have had some reason for his suspicion of him, surely?’ Sir Peregrine asked more gently.

‘I … I don’t know.’

‘Come, woman, he must have had cause to fear something,’ Baldwin said. ‘And he was right, too, wasn’t he? Someone must have warned him of some danger!’

She said nothing, but her eyes filled with tears again and she looked away.

Baldwin studied her for a few moments. ‘Tell me, good lady. Who could have wanted your man dead? Did he have many enemies?’

‘Of course he did! He was an officer. Do you think you have none?’

Baldwin smiled at her sudden outburst. It was true enough that any man who spent his days capturing law-breakers and seeing to their accusation and conviction would inevitably earn himself adversaries who would be glad to see him removed. Daniel was no different from any other in this. ‘So you think that this attacker in the night was a man who bore your husband a grudge?’

His words brought her head round as though their import suddenly struck at her. ‘“Grudge”? Why do you call it that? No, there was nothing like that!’

Baldwin hesitated. He had been in situations like this before, when a careless choice of words had led to an unexpected retort. Her reaction was not that of a woman who was following the same line of thought as his own. He had meant only that an officer of the law would know people who might have had reason to want to revenge themselves upon him. Baldwin knew of three men whose brother or father had been executed as a result of his own enquiries, and he was always alert to the possibility of an attack from them. Surely Daniel had similar contacts who could desire his death — such as friends of the old man who had died when Daniel struck him on the head.

But she was not thinking of that when she responded. No, she had the shock of a new idea in her mind, unless he was much mistaken: an idea that horrified her. He wondered what it might be.

It had always been intended to be a moderately quiet affair. There was little need for a ceremony full of pomp and nonsense. John had already seen that Guibert didn’t want that, and he was sure that Sir William would have preferred a solemn, calm funeral without any fuss. After all, he had been strongly swayed by John’s preaching, and the language John had used about the failings of modern life had influenced Sir William to the end.

Sir William had been a brave man when he was younger, of course. His youth had been spent as a pilgrim in the Holy Land, earning himself a reward in Heaven. Any man who exiled himself on pilgrimage would be renewed, but one who travelled to the land of Christ Himself and fought to protect it from the heathen would win a plenary indulgence. Provided that he had already confessed his sins, all would be forgiven, not only on earth, but in Purgatory as well. It was a promise made long ago by Pope Urban at Clermont. There was no guarantee of an automatic place in Heaven, of course. No, that was up to God’s divine grace, and no man could be entirely certain of it. But if a man had faith and behaved honourably, there was no reason to suspect that he might be refused.

Some, of course, thought that they could escape the trap and live well here on earth and still win a place. That was why preachers like John spent so much time explaining the truth. When a man died, it was not the end. The body which had housed a man’s soul was, when dead, merely the abode of the worms which fed on his decaying flesh. In fact John was rather proud of one line of preaching he had used effectively, which described how the fatter a man’s body was, the more flames would be needed to burn him in Hell. An eternity of pain awaited those who gluttonously fed themselves vastly more than they truly needed, while the starved and scrawny would suffer less.

Sir William had paid attention to that, certainly. From the weight of his coffin, there was little left of him but skin and bone. Poor old fellow. In truth John would miss him. He had grown quite fond of Sir William of Hatherleigh.

And now the body was under the hearse, the candles were lighted, and the wintry sun was lancing in through the windows, making the dust dance like tiny angels. It was the sort of day that any man would be proud to be buried on.

There was a shout from the doorway, and a gasp from the assembled friars. John felt a cold terror suddenly grip his soul, and he was too petrified to turn and face this imminent danger. It was all he could do to glance at Prior Guibert.

The old man stood facing the altar with a distant smile on his face as a ringing clatter of weapons began to batter at the chapel’s door. He was still for a long while, and then his hand rose and stroked his pate.

Baldwin and Sir Peregrine left the woman and stood in the street for a short time, arguing.

‘She is clearly highly distressed, Sir Baldwin. Your questioning was at best impertinent when the woman was so distraught.’

‘She was as collected as a queen. There was no obvious pain there, man,’ Baldwin snapped. ‘If you want to seek justice for her and her husband, you must allow me to question as I see fit.’

‘I will not have you upsetting the recently widowed for no purpose.’

‘“No purpose ”? I wish to learn the truth!’

‘But not by upsetting this lady; I won’t see you do that.’

‘Then you are not fit to serve as Coroner! It is your duty to find any evidence that might point to the culprit so that the murderer can be captured, and the fines collected for this infringement of the King’s Peace. Your job, Coroner, is to record all relevant information.’