Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

‘Don’t listen to him. Take the body and we’ll go. Snuff those candles and take them too.’

The four began to blow out the candles, pulling them from their spikes and carefully placing them in sacks. One friar interposed himself, but was roughly pushed from their path. He stumbled and fell against a lattice in front of the altar, which broke, the thin dry lathes crackling dustily as he tumbled through it.

John made as though to go and defend the priory’s property, but Guibert put out a hand when he heard his movement and gripped his shoulder. ‘No, no, John. Remain here with me,’ he said gently. ‘There is no point in argument or fighting. These ruffians are proof against all moderation.’

The body was lifted on its bier, and John watched with his eyes glittering fiercely as it was carried towards them.

‘You can have him back when he’s had his funeral,’ the canon sneered. To John’s eye he was gaining in confidence now that no one stood against him. ‘And don’t try this sort of nonsense again. I’d have thought you would have learned by now that we won’t suffer this infringement of our rights. Our Bishop has his memory still, you know.’

‘Yes,’ Guibert said slyly. ‘And the ear of the King … sometimes. And at other times, he may not. Your Bishop is not long for this world, man. And his excommunication is still in place. It is sad that he has chosen to take all of you with him.’ He turned to face the approaching bier. ‘I am truly sorry, my sons. You will pay with your eternal lives for this dreadful act of violence. Striking a friar in his chapel, breaking our lattice, stealing our candles and ornaments, and taking a body in the process of his funeral … these are terrible crimes. You shall be punished. All will be excommunicate! Now, if you do not fear God, go with your trophies, but remember, no matter what penance you perform for this evil, you can never wash away the sin. You are defiled for ever.’

John could see one of the nervous-looking men casting about towards the others, but another in front of him just sneered and spat. ‘You’re a friar, but our Bishop has more power than you! He can overrule any sentence you lay on us. You’re the ones breaking the laws, not us.’

‘He is right,’ said the canon. ‘Be grateful that we won’t bother to report this. Come, we must return to the cathedral to give this man his funeral. We shall keep the body in St Peter’s for a while. Come and collect him when you’re ready.’

With a last contemptuous glance at the Prior, the man turned on his heel and followed the men carrying the body.

‘Prior, I am so sorry,’ John said as the great door was closed on their arrogant departure.

‘Sorry? For what? It is exactly what I expected, and what I wished,’ Guibert said softly. ‘Brother, now we have the cathedral where we want them.’

Baldwin walked round the house to the window he had seen before. It had been mended haphazardly, with a patch of wood nailed over the splinter, but when he tested it with his hand it moved.

‘Useless! Someone has levered this away.’

‘How could they do that?’ Sir Peregrine demanded. He pushed past Edgar to join Baldwin and studied the flap of wood. ‘But this has not merely been prised away, has it?’

‘No. It has been expertly done. One nail at the top is the same length as it was, and hinges the panel. The wood lies flat, and when pushed is held in place by the remaining shorter nails. But a man who knows of it can easily pull it away and slip it up, giving access to the hole once more like this …’ He put his hand on it and rocked it gently, and with a quiet squeak the wood moved to one side, still held by the one nail. ‘Someone knew of this work and levered the wood away, then filed down three of the nails so that they would grip but still be easy to remove. A rather ingenious means of gaining access to the peg’s hole.’

‘You seem thoughtful.’

‘I am. This work must have taken some time. And it must have been done by a man who had a good knowledge of the way the shutter was patched.’

‘Perhaps the pederast arrived here one evening and learned that his access was blocked, and so he performed this work to make it easier to gain entry?’ Sir Peregrine suggested.

‘You think he could have taken a lever to this, then filed the nails and hammered the first one back in again without waking the household?’ Baldwin smiled. ‘No, this was planned and executed with skill. And the man must have come here when the house was empty.’

‘You mean he heard of a time when all would be out of the house and came here to do this then? It would have been a brave thing to do.’

‘Scarcely,’ Baldwin said coolly. He replaced the block of wood on the panels of the shutter and pushed it. The nails soon bit into the shutter and held the block in place, apparently firmly. ‘Yesterday was Monday; the day before was the Sabbath. I fear someone planned to come here and kill him on Sunday. A dreadful crime to contemplate on a holy day.’

‘Or any other.’

‘True … Daniel mentioned a man who’d caught this nocturnal visitor, did he not? Reginald Gylla, wasn’t it?’

He strode round the house with his head lowered in thought. At the front door, he stopped and called to Daniel’s maidservant. ‘Yesterday your master spoke of a man — Reginald Gylla? Do you know where he lives?’

The woman nodded and gave directions to a house up near the Priory of St Nicholas.

‘Good. And now we should enjoy some refreshment — is there a tavern nearby?’

‘Yes, sir. Left up the street.’

‘And who would know most of this stranger who enters houses at night?’ Baldwin pressed her. ‘Estmund Webber.’

She blanched and looked about her. Then, ‘Ask old Saul at the tavern. He’ll be there at this time of day, and he can tell you all you need to know. You ask him.’

He should have realized the depth of the mire into which Jordan would drag him, but Reginald was too content to be able to sleep with a roof over his head, to feel his belly filled once more, and to know that he didn’t have to worry about starving again, not for a while.

On his way to the market for a treat for his wife, he recalled those days.

They had changed direction soon after the sale of the pardoners’ goods, and almost immediately Jordan started looking for a place to rent. Soon he was the proud master of a small brothel, and that one grew into a trio, one in Exeter near the East Gate, one just outside the walls at the South Gate, in case the city grew more censorious about such activities, and a third in Topsham, to catch all the sailors. Reg hadn’t wanted any part of the businesses, but Jordan wanted a friend, a man he could trust, to help him. Reg had little choice unless he wanted to upset Jordan, and no man with sense would want to upset Jordan. So no, he had remained quiet, and helped. He had invested in the venture, and when the profits began to flow, he had taken that money and used it to buy small loads on a ship that traded between Bordeaux and Dartmouth. Soon he was building a profitable business.

Jordan had more ideas. As the whores began to bring in more money, he started to look for new schemes to increase his wealth. He scorned legitimate business, because the profits were lower and the risks higher, so he said. The only risk in prostitution was that another man might persuade one of his women to leave him for another pander, but if that was the case, Jordan would threaten the man and scare him off. If he couldn’t, he’d destroy the fellow. And often the woman too. He had no time for women who were disloyal to him. Or men.

The memory of the night before Daniel had attacked poor old Ham came back to Reg and he felt sickened once more.