Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

Yes, he knew her. She was wife to that man three doors along the road, the big, bluff fellow who was always the first to buy wine in the tavern. Jordan le Bolle. The man Sir Baldwin de Furnshill suspected of involvement in organized prostitution, and possibly the attacks on Anne and Mick. This was his woman, and usually a marvellous-looking lady at that. She too had plainly been attacked, although not seriously in his estimation. There were no obvious lacerations in her breast or on her hands to indicate defence against a knife attack. Nothing like that. But she had suffered a lot of ill-treatment, clearly. The poor woman looked as though she had been forced to endure a great deal of torture over some weeks.

‘You cannot find decent staff, can you?’ he essayed with a bright smile, which faded quickly as she burst into tears.

‘It was a little hurtful, I confess,’ Baldwin said as Jeanne and Edgar packed up their few belongings. ‘I had hoped that my assistance might be desirable to the good Coroner.’

‘“Good Coroner”?’ Jeanne repeated with a raised brow. ‘Your tone has changed towards him, husband. Is this not the man you thought of as a mere political agent, dangerous to know and still more dangerous to befriend?’

‘Well, that is as may be,’ Baldwin responded a little huffily. ‘But he has not tried to force his opinions down my throat, nor has he attempted to persuade me that treachery to the King is justified. It is strange, though, because I thought he would do so — he tried to bring up the subject almost as soon as he first saw us here, if you remember.’

‘Perhaps it was your subtle refusal to discuss anything of the kind?’ Jeanne said mockingly.

‘I was intentionally blunt.’

‘Rude,’ Edgar corrected from the far end of the room.

‘When I want your opinion, I shall ask for it,’ Baldwin declared loftily.

‘Anyway, it was after he saw that widow that he lost interest in politics,’ Edgar continued imperturbably.

‘You think so?’ Jeanne asked. ‘Could he be chasing a new lover?’

‘He could be,’ Baldwin considered. ‘If he is, it is sad.’

‘Why sad?’

‘Because he has had misfortune with women before.’

She nodded. Both had been in Tiverton when his last woman had died in childbirth.

‘So,’ he continued. ‘What worse for him than a woman who has recently been widowed and is still in mourning? She will be unattainable for some while to come, if she wants to honour her dead husband.’

There was a moment’s silence as they considered this, and then Jeanne sighed. ‘I could feel quite sorry for him. If there is a chance that he could be happy with that woman, I wish him all good fortune in his wooing.’

‘If it keeps him off the subject of politics and leaves me in peace I’ll happily pay for the wedding breakfast myself,’ Baldwin muttered drily. ‘For that I’d be willing to give freely.’

Edgar grinned as Jeanne shook her head and tutted impatiently. She returned to her packing.

There was little enough to worry about. Mostly it was a few clothes, some shirts and a clean tunic with some better quality hosen for Baldwin, in case he had to attend a court while he was here in Exeter. All had been sent on by messenger after his wounding, and most of it had not been used. Still, she was content. Soon they would be home. The peasant woman would be there, of course, but Jeanne felt a little better able to cope with the sight of her than she had a day or two ago. Yes, she was sure that she could manage to see the maid without growing too angry.

And her man did look happier, she thought. Baldwin seemed easier in his own mind now that he had given up this investigation. He needed rest, and as soon as they arrived home that was what he would get whether he liked it or not. Baldwin would be comfortably installed in a chair in the warm hall near their fire, and he would stay there until Jeanne felt he was better. No interruptions, no courts, nothing. Just rest.

She had just reached this conclusion when there came a knock at the door and she felt her heart lurch, as though she knew that this boded ill for her plans.

Estmund drank a little more of the ale and belched, but there was no comfort in it. He had come here to the Duryard, as Henry had urged, to be away from the Coroner during the inquest, in order to escape arrest, but what had he escaped to? He was looked on as a felon now, for not turning up to the Coroner’s court, and how could matters improve? While he was hiding, everyone would assume he was as guilty as Henry did. There was no escape, not while he lived in Exeter.

Henry had told him he ought to go. Yes, but where? He knew nowhere other than Exeter. This was his city. Here was where he had been born, where he’d been taught, where he’d been apprenticed and qualified as a butcher, where he’d loved, married, and conceived his child before burying the baby girl and his wife. To leave this place would be like leaving his own soul. He couldn’t do it!

He hadn’t done anything, anyway. Not on purpose. He’d just been there as usual, and then Daniel ran at him and …

He’d always loved the innocence of children. It was there in their faces as they lay in their beds just as it was when they were at rest or at play. He loved it, the way that they would focus on whatever most attracted them to the exclusion of all else, but better was the look of peace on their faces while they were sleeping. That was what he had always loved most.

Emma had always said that children were the hope of the world. When there were rumours of war with the murderous Scots, or the mad Welsh, or the Irish, Emma always said that it was the children who must be protected because they could make the world safer for everyone. If men could only learn from the sweetness of little children, everyone would be happier, she used to say. And wars might end.

At those times Est had laughed at her, amused to think that she could be so innocent. While men lived, they would fight. Everyone knew that.

He felt … he was almost sure that in those days life had been clearer. There had been less confusion in his mind. He had been able to concentrate more easily; he knew what he wanted. First his own shop in the fleshfold, then his wife, and finally a family, and he had managed to win all three. He hoped later to join the Freedom and enjoy the privileges that would give him. In those days, such a long time ago, he’d thought he would be one of the wealthiest men in the city before long.

But then he lost everything.

Emma was the lintel on which his life had rested, sound and firm. When she died, it took the strength from his soul. Yet he could still discern a little of her magic and purpose when he saw children.

At first he had looked only at babies, like Saul’s kids when they were young. And when Saul lost his little one, he had welcomed Est’s visits to stand vigil over the survivor. Est had never meant to cause harm to any child. He couldn’t. Robbing a child of her innocence was a terrible crime. But that was what he had done to Cecily … it shouldn’t have happened! Daniel shouldn’t have rushed in there trying to hurt him. He shouldn’t have done that. Est had fled, almost colliding with the man outside. His appearance almost made Est scream, it scared him so much, but then he ducked and ran.

He had been watching children like Cecily ever since Emma’s death. When she was taken from him, he used to go and visit the children born at the same time as their own, seeing how they were. At first it was loneliness, then jealousy, and finally it was his Purpose.

That was how he viewed it. He had a God-given duty to protect these little ones from suffering. If there was anything he could do to protect them, he should. He would watch them during the night when he couldn’t sleep, not because he wanted to upset anyone, but because he knew God wanted him to look after the children of about his daughter’s age. All those little ones who could have been his own. Not that they were. He knew that. He wasn’t mad. No, it was just that others didn’t see life so clearly as he did. He knew that children in their innocence were more important than older people. Children were crucial. They were the future of the world.