Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

With those two points firmly in his mind, Ralph ordered his servants to fetch him if there were any other urgent calls, then packed his little leather pack and slung it over his shoulder, preparing to follow Edgar.

The way was not far. They had to turn right from his house, up to the northernmost tip of the lane, and then turn left parallel with the northern wall, until the road became Paul Street. Only a short way along here stood Talbot’s Inn, the tavern in which Baldwin was prone to stay during his infrequent visits to Exeter.

To Ralph’s mind, this was not one of the better hostelries. There were others which had a better atmosphere, but it was not up to him where his patients resided. Far be it for him to try to dictate where a man should sleep. Still, it made him wonder. Foul air could cause many illnesses, and he wondered whether there was something about the air in this place that could have caused Sir Baldwin’s shoulder to swell.

He set to his task, manipulating the shoulder, feeling the slight grating of bone and cartilage, then peering into Baldwin’s mouth, feeling the shoulder itself and the wound just under the collarbone, and finally studying the knight’s back and shoulder blade. ‘That’s where it’s giving you trouble,’ he said at last. ‘There is some heat in the entrance wound. I’ll give you a salve for it. In the meantime, I’ll want to put your arm in a sling to stop you using it. Have you been moving it much?’

Baldwin scowled and was about to speak when his servant said, ‘He was practising with his sword yesterday morning.’

‘Can I trust no one about me?’ Baldwin demanded gruffly.

‘Is this true?’ Ralph asked.

‘I am a knight, physician. A knight! I have to practise.’

‘When you are better, you can do so. For now, you will rest that arm and that shoulder, or I shall not be responsible for the consequences. You understand me? I can save the arm and your life, but only if you obey me.’

‘Oh, very well. I shall stop my practising.’

‘Good. And now I think that I can be more usefully occupied elsewhere.’

‘And I want a short walk,’ Baldwin said.

‘Nothing strenuous. You need to keep your energy up,’ Ralph said, throwing a meaningful glance at the man’s wife. Christ’s balls, but she was a delight, too. Sir Baldwin was extremely lucky to have her.

There was a loud rapping on the door as he packed his bag and prepared to leave. When he heard his name being called by his servant, he rolled his eyes heavenwards and shook his head. ‘There is never enough time! Enter!’

‘Master, it’s the … the maid you saw last night. She’s dead, they fear. Can you go there?’

Immediately behind the boy was Betsy, and although Ralph tried to indicate that he would speak to her outside, she ran in. ‘Ralph, you have to come! She drank all that potion you left for her! I don’t know what to do!’

Baldwin was already on his feet, peering at the woman with uncertainty in his eyes. ‘This woman, she is a friend of yours?’

Betsy hesitated. ‘I’d say so.’

Ralph threw him a look, undecided. He had no great desire for the city to learn that he gave his services free to the whores from the stews, but then again, he expected that they didn’t want all the men in the city to realize that they gave their services free either. And it might be worthwhile for Sir Baldwin to see what had happened to the girl. There was still a sense of outrage in him that she had been tortured so violently. ‘You should rest, Sir Baldwin,’ he said slowly.

‘I would like a walk,’ Baldwin said imperturbably. ‘Perhaps we shall walk the same way.’

‘I would like that very much,’ Ralph said, taking a quick decision. ‘Betsy, come. Show Sir Baldwin the way to poor Anne.’

Sir Peregrine was in the middle of completing his final statements to the clerk, who scrawled and scratched as fast as he could, at the head of the alleyway where Mick’s body lay when he heard the hurried steps of Sir Baldwin at the far end.

‘Sir Baldwin. I did not think you wanted to attend this inquest?’

‘I was not interested at first, Sir Peregrine. Sir, do you know Master Ralph of Malmesbury, my physician?’

‘Master,’ Sir Peregrine said, inclining his head politely. To his astonishment, the fellow barged past him as though he was no more than a drunken carter in the man’s path.

He was about to bellow after him when he saw the maid behind Sir Baldwin. She was standing well back, out of earshot, but he could tell that she was a whore, and a pretty one at that.

Sir Baldwin laid a hand on his forearm. ‘I think we may have come a little closer to solving this murder at least, Sir Peregrine.’

‘And how is that?’

‘Sometimes,’ said Ralph, ‘I help the whores in the stews. A few nights ago, one called Anne was foully tortured by someone and cut about.’

He had completed his swift examination of the body. ‘I was called to help her last night when the women had lost all hope,’ he admitted. ‘They wanted the best medical advice so they came to me, and I did what I could for her, but I left them with a drink to help her sleep. It seems she finished the whole lot off. It killed her.’

‘What of it?’

Baldwin shrugged. ‘It seems curious to me that the pander should be murdered and the girl dreadfully cut about at more or less the same time. Perhaps the pander hurt her and a boyfriend or brother heard of it, and killed the pander?’

‘It’s possible. Certainly this lad wasn’t tortured as such. He just had his throat cut.’

‘She had no family,’ Ralph said. ‘And her only man friend was Mick there.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘And his death looks like an execution.’

Sir Peregrine sighed. ‘I suppose I should view this maid’s body too, then. Where is she?’

‘We were on our way to see her. I thought you would be here, and bringing Ralph seemed a sensible idea.’

‘You recognize this man, then, physician?’ Sir Peregrine demanded formally.

‘He was the procurer for the whore Anne,’ Ralph agreed. ‘He used to work about the docks area for her and bring gulls back to her chamber.’

‘Very well. Let’s go and view this latest body.’

Baldwin nodded, but he was staring musingly down at Mick. ‘Tell me, Ralph, do you have any idea about this man and the girl? Who owned the property where she worked? Who took the rent?’

‘I don’t know, but Betsy will, more than likely,’ Ralph said more quietly, nodding toward her.

The building was not prepossessing, and the neighbourhood very rough. Only the brave or foolhardy would come to an area like this, Baldwin thought as he stepped from the grey morning light into the gloomy interior, then through to the lean-to room.

Here the very air was sour, filled with the taint of sex, sweat, spilled cheap wine and vomit. It was not the sort of place a woman should enter. There was a vast gulf between the married woman who sought some additional money by a little trade on the side, and this. The good wife selling her body for a sum wanted something: a trinket, some food, it didn’t matter. She was involved in the trade because there was something she desired.

This place was utterly different: it was a place where women went when they had no dreams left, no aspirations. They came here in order to stave off death for a little while. Perhaps some arrived here with hope in their hearts, Baldwin thought, touching a beam with a finger and feeling the stickiness of tar from the open fire and candles, but that hope would soon be extinguished. The women in places like this were only meat to be sold for the evening, nothing more. And as soon as the meat grew a little tough or unhealthy, it was discarded.