Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

Of course the problem was that they had lost so many staff recently. There had been the disastrous deaths in the cathedral’s works *, closely followed by the death of men involved in the chapter, and that had required others to be brought in to help with the essential businesses. A cathedral was not, after all, merely a large church with a patch of ground filled with bones. It was a separate community in its own right, with its own farms, brewery, bakery, slaughterhouses, wash-houses … everything. Hundreds of men lived and worked within it to make sure that all the various aspects functioned properly. When one part failed, everything could collapse. And it was essential that the whole edifice should continue, because so many people depended upon it. Their souls were to be saved only if the canons and vicars, secondaries and annuellars were able to conduct their business without hindrance.

And now one over-enthusiastic idiot had jeopardized their efforts again. He’d gone ahead without even thinking about the consequences.

‘Bring them in,’ he said and dropped into his chair. As soon as John and Robert appeared, gliding silently over the floor on their bare feet, he stood again and exchanged greetings. ‘Wine, Brothers? Some other refreshment?’

‘You know why-’

‘I know exactly why — um — you have been forced to come and see us here, and all I can — ah — say is that I am very unhappy that this terrible situation has come to pass. The man involved will be severely reprimanded for presuming to — um — demand the body.’

‘I hardly think that such behaviour merits merely a reprimand. We demand that the chapter apologize formally and return the body forthwith for the funeral to continue.’

A hint of steel entered the Dean’s voice. ‘But I do not quite, um, understand. I had heard that the period of vigil was complete and that the poor man concerned was ready for his funeral?’

‘And we shall conduct it.’

‘I had — um — believed that after the last dispute between the chapter and your priory, it was agreed that the cathedral had the monopoly of funerals for all secular folk in the city? Correct me if — ah — I am wrong, but you have the right to bury only those who are members of your Order. Is that not — ah — so?’

‘You have no monopoly. The Friars Preacher have the right to bury others in our cloister or wherever we wish. Our rights have been upheld by his holiness himself.’

‘As I recall, the decision was that we should try to live in — ah — harmony, and that when a wealthy benefactor requested the honour of a place in your chapel, you were to inform us first, and then grant us one fourth of all moneys and legacies involved. Yet you attempted to conduct a secret funeral and burial.’

‘That was no reason to break down our doors, injure a friar who stood passively and unthreateningly, destroy our lattice and steal our candles and cloths. It was an act of blatant violence — you have caused great harm and broken our peace. We demand that the body be returned to us for burial.’

Dean Alfred stood and stared out a moment through the little window. If he could have had his way, the friars would have gone ahead with their funeral and burial, and later the chapter could have demanded compensation for the money which had been withheld. Then right would have been on the chapter’s side, and the legal arguments would have been clear. But now one hot-head had exacerbated the tensions between the two groups.

‘I apologize again. When the funeral is completed I can return the body and all the goods with it, in exchange for the fourth part of his estate as agreed before. Otherwise, I think that the chapter should retain the body and goods in token of the agreement which you have tried to evade.’ He spun on his heel, eyes blazing. ‘Do not think to argue with me, Brother! I know you well, John. You have been preaching against us these last two months. Who is it who insists upon reminding the populace of this city that our own very reverend Bishop was unreasonably excommunicated by your Prior? That your priory attempted to have him cast out of the university at Oxford, falsely alleging that he was to be excluded because he was excommunicate? I do not forget these actions. And now you have tried to create another dispute between our two institutions.’

‘I have done nothing of the sort! It was the outrageous behaviour of your chapter, breaking down our doors and wounding our friars, merely to satisfy your wanton lust for gold and coin!’

‘Our lust?’ Dean Alfred echoed. ‘The only reason we had to enquire about the body was because you were attempting to withhold our share of Sir William’s estate. You were determined to retain the full amount without honouring your legal responsibilities.’

‘You dare to judge the actions of the Friars Preacher? We are not so tied to the greed and indulgence of lascivious delights as you canons are! While you sit back in comfortable seats, drinking warmed wine and letting your vicars perform your duties for you, or travel about the country visiting your estates and holdings all over the land, we friars are hard at work out there in the real world of poverty and misery, trying to save the souls of the most downtrodden by our example!’

The Dean stared at him long and hard. ‘Some of us have not yet forgotten the matter of Gilbert de Knovil’s money, Brother. I say to you, before you seek to — um — accuse others of possessing a splinter, look to your own plank.’

John’s face went almost purple with rage. ‘I am not here to bandy words about matters of no importance!’

‘So money is of no consequence? That is good. Perhaps, if you, ah, deposited Sir William of Hatherleigh’s money with us, then you could take his body back with you and all would be well.’

With an effort John calmed himself. ‘Oh, no, Dean. We shall be taking this matter further. You wish the affair done with? It shall be when we have debated it fully and the King’s own men have come here to listen to our pleas.’

He stood, gave the Dean a most unhumble and angry nod, and left the room, a very perturbed-looking Robert hurrying at his heels.

‘Dean? My lord? Are you all right?’

Waving a hand at his servant, Alfred smiled benignly and reassured him. But when he had sent his man out to fetch him a goblet of wine, he sat back contemplatively and considered all that had been said.

He should not have lost his temper, but perhaps it was no bad thing after all. He had roused John to rage with his reminder of the theft of Gilbert de Knovil’s money — the foolish fellow had deposited it in the friary, and Brother Nicholas Sandekyn had acquired it for himself. Three separate priors had sought to conceal the theft, which caused much embarrassment when their offences were uncovered. But that was old history now — what was more important was John’s reaction. The man was undoubtedly insanely jealous of the cathedral, and would do much to damage the chapter, if he could. Yet he had threatened to involve the King’s men. That was a curious peril with which to menace the chapter of Exeter Cathedral. After all, their Bishop, Walter de Stapledon, was trusted and honoured by the King. What sort of threat did the friars imagine the King could be to them?

The Dean was suddenly aware of a very unpleasant sinking feeling.

Saul was an older man who had spent much of his life working in the fleshfold not far from the Black Hog. His cheery smile and benevolent appearance could not entirely mask his sharp mind and the sense to use it.

‘So you want to know about Est in case he had anything to do with the murder of the sergeant? You’d have to be mad to think that!’

‘Why?’