Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

‘I do not need a Keeper to tell me my job.’

‘Perhaps you do. You are rather new to the position, are you not?’

‘You overstep yourself, Sir Baldwin!’ Sir Peregrine hissed, and there was genuine anger in his voice.

‘No, Sir Coroner, I do not think I do!’ Baldwin said, aware of Edgar at his side. Irritably he shook his head. ‘No, Edgar! I do not intend to fight with Sir Peregrine. Sir Coroner, this is ridiculous. The woman is widowed, yes. But she may hold information which is relevant to finding her husband’s murderer.’

‘You treated her like a suspect instead of a victim.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed firmly. ‘Because I believe that she is. However, my questions were designed to establish her innocence as well as the identity of her husband’s murderer.’

‘She was perfectly clear on that point, I believe. The man, the pederast her husband spoke of, has been creeping into houses all over the city. She and her husband have seen him often enough before.’

‘Yes, which was itself curious, don’t you think? He’s been seen so often, and yet her evidence implies that it’s only recently that she and her husband have grown so concerned that they have bothered to protect their children from him. Does that not strike you as strange?’

‘There is little that surprises me about the behaviour of people,’ Sir Peregrine said.

‘There are times when their actions deserve further study. I must see the widow Gwen and the children.’

‘You cannot mean to question them too? A nine-year-old and a lad half her age?’

Baldwin snapped, ‘No. But I’d be keen to speak to someone who knows the family, and surely the woman who offered a place to the children while their mother recovered would be such a one?’

Sir Peregrine nodded. He was distracted, and knew it. Looking at the rising anger on Sir Baldwin’s face, he had the grace to feel ashamed. Sir Baldwin was not a well man yet, and here he was being roused by Sir Peregrine himself. ‘I am not sure what is the matter with me today, Sir Baldwin. I apologise for any offence given. It was not intended. Do you think that this man Webber has any bearing on the matter? For my part I can conceive of no other who would have had a hand in the murder.’

‘I can conceive of several, Sir Peregrine,’ Baldwin said. ‘First, the pederast; then any relatives of the man — Ham, was it? — whom Daniel killed the other day. And, finally, there is always the wife. No! Do not bother to rush to her defence. If she has one, we shall find it. Be that as it may, it is often the wife who kills her husband, or the husband who kills the wife, when there is a dispute in a household. Often you need look no further. Still, there are some factors which lead me away from that conclusion …’

‘What are they?’

‘Well, all too often when there is a killing within the family, you’ll smell plenty of ale or wine on both parties. There was very little in the room with that body. I smelled little if any on Daniel, and from the look of her, his wife was not drunk either. Her eyes showed little sign of it, only tears, and I didn’t notice the reek of sour wine about her. No, there is nothing that shows definitely that they were drinking and had a fight. Even the timing. I understand that the screams were heard very early this morning?’

‘The watch hurried to the hue and cry during Matins.’

‘So some while before dawn, then,’ Baldwin noted. Matins was celebrated before Prime, which was the dawn service at the cathedral. The murder had taken place not long after the middle of the night. ‘Not the sort of time at which a man should be walking the streets.’

‘No. He should have been noticed for that if nothing else.’

‘First, then, let us see whether there is any sign of an actual break-in at Daniel’s house,’ Baldwin said, and set off across the street to the sergeant’s home once more. ‘And then I would like to meet his little girl again.’

‘That would be cruel, Sir Baldwin!’ Sir Peregrine protested. ‘At least allow her some hours to recover herself and take what comfort she can from her mother.’

Baldwin stopped and stared back the way he had come, but he didn’t see the house where Juliana sat with her children and her neighbour about her. In his mind’s eye he saw his own wife shrieking with horror beside his fallen body, his face twisted in death like Daniel’s, his blood draining as quickly from the slit throat, while his daughter Richalda screamed and wailed inconsolably.

It was only recently that he had been near-mortally wounded. He clenched his fist and rotated his shoulder a little to ease the tension at his collarbone where the arrow had pierced him. Richalda and his wife hadn’t been there when he was hit, but he knew how they would have reacted had he died. And were a man to have arrived shortly after his death, demanding answers to questions such as the ones he had put to Juliana, how would Jeanne have felt? More: what would she have said had she heard that the same inquisitor was intending to question her darling Richalda too?

Hopefully Jeanne would castrate the bastard, Baldwin thought.

‘You are right, Sir Peregrine. I shall not question the child. No, we shall come to comprehend this matter without such blunt tactics.’

If only, he would later think, such snap judgements could be withdrawn and their consequences annulled. As it was, he took the decision with the best of intentions, little knowing that it would lead to many more deaths and much pain and suffering.

Guibert stood and faced the men in his doorway. ‘What is the meaning of this sacrilege?’

‘You’re holding a funeral in here, Prior! You know you don’t have the right without discussing it with the canons.’

‘Who are you? Is that Peter de la Fosse? What do you mean by this intrusion? We can bury this man in our chapel. He has made over his wealth to us already. There is nothing here for you, Canon.’

‘Don’t try to persuade me of that, Prior. You’ve extorted all his wealth, I have no doubt, and you’re welcome to install his body in your cloister when we have done with it, but the cathedral has the monopoly of all funerals still. That man is ours. The candles, the cloth, everything is cathedral property. You’ll relinquish it now!’

John frowned and stared at the canon with confusion. It sounded as though Peter was himself unconvinced. He was plainly anxious, nervy, as though he feared that the friars might attack him. Well, that was unsurprising. He was guilty of an unholy intrusion.

‘You are performing an act of sacrilege. Leave now.’

‘We’ll leave when we’ve got our man!’

Guibert’s head rose impressively on his shoulders. ‘My fellow, this is a privileged chapel. You are here without permission and in breach of the peace. Be gone!’

‘Prior,’ the man said, and stepped forward with a fixed stare in his fretful eyes. When closer, he snapped his fingers under the Prior’s nose. ‘I give that for your peace. You’re always making it your business to steal our funerals and preach against the cathedral and the Bishop, God bless his soul! Well, it’s all going to change now. We won’t have it any more.’

‘Who are “we”?’ Guibert asked mildly.

‘The canons. We have new blood in the chapter now, and we won’t have any more of this nonsense.’ He motioned and four sheepish-looking lay denizens of the cathedral close approached, two of them looking nervously at the Prior.

‘Well may you look so anxious, my sons. Today you perform the devil’s work. You are here to steal the body of a man who desired only to be left in peace after his death. When you remove him, you will take away an unhappy soul. Here he would have lain happily, content after his long life, with our prayers to speed his journey. But you are to interrupt his passage by removing him. He will haunt you for all eternity, my friends.’ Guibert shook his head sadly.