Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

All this trouble was making the noises start again. Not too intrusive yet, but just annoying enough to distract him. It was all this trouble Agnes was putting him to. There was no need for it. Not really. It made his head ache.

He would go to Juliana now and speak with her. It was only right that a man should pay his respects to the widow of Sergeant Daniel. Accordingly, he collected a cotte and hat against the chilly November air, and only when he was at his door did he realize that his bitch of a wife was not back yet. She had gone to speak to that prickle of a physician, he guessed, and should have been back by now. No matter. If she was going to remain out there for an age, that was fine, so long as she made sure that there was food ready on the table when he wanted it, later.

The way over to Juliana’s was easiest down to the high street, then west, and he set off with a swagger, a blackthorn stick in his hand, whistling cheerfully enough.

‘Ho! Master Jordan le Bolle!’

Jordan heard the call and spun immediately. It was ever best to be on one’s guard against thieves — and officers — but it was only the physician. ‘Yes?’

‘I am Ralph of Malmesbury, sir. I am a physician.’

‘Yes. I have seen you,’ Jordan said with a patronizing air. ‘What of it? Do you have to call for business in the street?’

‘No. Enough comes to my door, master. And you seem competent to send it to me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your wife. You beat her extensively, Master Jordan, and I would have you treat her more honourably.’

Jordan’s jaw clenched. He had suffered enough from foolish accusations today. ‘You mean to tell me how to treat my wife?’ he asked coldly. ‘Have you never heard that a man’s relationship with his wife is his own affair?’

‘Within a tithing, even a dispute between husband and wife may become the legitimate interest of the tithing man, master, and when the husband threatens to beat her to death, that makes it a matter of concern to all. I have written a record of your wife’s injuries, and I would have you treat her more reasonably in future, because if you do not, in Christ’s name, I’ll-’

‘What, little man? Steal her from me? Is that it? You want her for yourself?’ Jordan could feel his temper fray. Normally he would dash out the brains of a fool who accosted him in the street like this and he’d be damned if he’d suffer more of it. There was no one in the street looking their way. He hissed, ‘Send her back to me, and I’ll show you what happens to a treacherous bitch who can’t keep her mouth shut when talking to other men about her marriage and her husband.’

‘If you beat her again, you may kill her, you fool, and then you’ll be before the court.’

Jordan leaned forward, head jutting belligerently. ‘You think so? Maybe, little leech, you’ll find yourself up there in front of the justice, with an accusation of adultery on your head. Eh?’

‘I piss on you, you-’

This time his speech was cut off as Jordan’s blackthorn stick rose and met his windpipe. In an instant, Ralph was pushed back into a doorway, the stick at his throat, and already his breath was restricted. Jordan was heavier than him, much broader and more powerful. Physicians tended not to need much muscle, and Ralph was starting to choke when Jordan released the stick and patted him disdainfully on the head.

‘Stick to leechcraft, little man. Stay looking after my whores if you like them so much. Leave big, bad fighting to real men. And don’t ever think to threaten me again,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘Because I swear on my mother’s soul that next time, I’ll put my fist down your throat and choke you on your entrails.’

Juliana was exhausted. Returning from the cathedral after maintaining vigil over her husband’s body, she was sore and tense. The endless night had taken more from her than she had expected. People about her didn’t seem to realize, either. They went about their business as though there was nothing the matter, while all the time she felt as though she had been through an ordeal.

It was curious walking back from the cathedral. For some reason it put her in mind of her father’s funeral. But then of course Daniel had been there to support her. Now she felt so lonely …

She expected to be acknowledged on every side; surely everybody knew that her husband was dead? Yet no one spoke to her. The hawkers went on shouting their wares, the cooks continued to bawl out about their pies, the alewives screeched on about the quality of their drinks, and over all there was the din of horses, metalled hooves ringing on the cobbled ways, and dogs barking. It was a discordant cacophony that most days would sound comforting, being merely the regular background noise of her life, but today it was overawing, battering her ears. She had a headache before she had passed more than a few feet from the close.

It seemed as though the world was mocking her. They all knew of her desolation, but everyone was pretending that there was nothing wrong. The world was unchanged. Life could continue as before.

At the house, Gwen was already waiting with a strong jug of wine. ‘Come here, maid. Sit, sit, sit. Come, close your eyes,’ she cooed, shoving a pillow under Juliana’s head as she sat on a bench near a wall, lifting her feet and placing them on a small stool.

Gwen stood back and surveyed her work. ‘It’ll be a long while before you get over the aching, maid. You get used to it over time.’

‘You have buried so many, Gwen.’

‘Aye, that I have. Husband and children both. You learn how to over time, maid. I hope you don’t get to learn so well as me.’

‘Thank you, Gwen,’ Juliana said as she slipped into a merciful sleep …

… and woke to the sound of a door opening quietly.

She was startled. Springing up, she slipped and hit her head painfully against the wall, almost falling from the bench. Her heart pounded wildly and her eyes widened with fright when she saw Jordan le Bolle in the room with her.

‘ My God! ’

In her dream she had been asleep, and Daniel had come to her, bending to give her a last kiss before leaving for a long journey, and the feel of his lips was still upon hers, a chilly tingling. She put a finger to them, to see if there was any sensation of the corpse on her still, but all the time her eyes were fixed upon Jordan. ‘You …’

‘I gave you a fright,’ he concluded for her. He stood before her, then bent to take her hand.

‘ No! ’ she exclaimed, snatching her hand away and averting her face.

His face seemed to freeze. ‘I only wanted to greet you, lady.’

‘I’ve just returned from the vigil over my husband’s body,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘The man who was so cruelly taken from me.’

‘I was very sad to hear of your loss.’

She could say nothing. Her eyes remained on his, but he could see something in them. Not just fear: there was defiance there too. Good! It would make it all the easier to have her killed. She was not submissive by nature. Well, neither was Agnes, come to that.

He began, ‘Juliana, I am sorry that he is gone. Perhaps I can help you? I love your sister, after all, and some little. .’

‘You love no one ! You are composed of hatred and bile, Jordan le Bolle! Have you forgotten the last time you spoke to my husband? You threatened to kill Daniel, and me, and my children, if he didn’t stop looking into your affairs. Have you forgotten that? Because I haven’t!’

He smiled again, but this time distantly, she was glad to see. Taking his leave, he was a little distracted, and Juliana realized that he could hear Gwen thrashing about with her broom again in the front room. Then he gave a final nod and walked from the house.