Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

She was sure that if Gwen hadn’t been in the next room, he would have killed her there and then.

Juliana sank back on the bench. She felt bone weary, but she daren’t close her eyes again. Partly it was fear that Jordan might return, but more than that, she was convinced that if she did, Daniel’s face would appear again, his cold, blue lips approaching hers.

Jordan stood outside the house with his stick in his hand, swinging it idly.

There could be no mistaking her feelings. When he entered the room, she had recoiled with revulsion as soon as she recognized him. No, there was no doubt at all that she was convinced he had killed her man.

Right. There were two problems to consider, then: Agnes and Juliana. Both could embarrass him, and he had no wish to be caught by their wiles. It would be a shame to have someone else kill them. Both were lovely, and he longed for an opportunity to enjoy himself again as he had with Anne. A shame, but there was no point worrying about pleasures that were gone for ever.

He would speak to one of his men and have both bitches removed.

Simon stood in the close in front of the Dean’s house and waited, leaning his shoulders against the wall. ‘How’s the wound, Baldwin?’

‘Not too bad. It gives me gip at night, but generally I can cope,’ Baldwin responded.

‘I’m sorry if this means you’ll be delayed in getting home.’

‘It’s just that I promised Jeanne,’ he said quietly. He remembered how she had been and felt himself torn. He didn’t want to do anything to upset her again.

The Dean had promised to send a messenger warning Jeanne that they were to be held up for a short time, and also telling Edgar to have the ostler remove the saddles from the horses for now and rub them down. A critical guiding light in Baldwin’s life, a result of his earlier life in the Templars, was the rule that horses were seen to first, before any humans, and it was a habit which died hard. It was fortunate that he had remembered to ask that the messenger should tell Jeanne first.

‘She’ll not be happy, you think?’ Simon ventured.

Baldwin gave a quick frown. ‘I don’t know. She seems rather … unsettled just now. I don’t pretend to understand why.’

Simon nodded, but then said, ‘Ah, I’ll willingly gamble that these are the two.’

Approaching them were a vicar and a clerk, and as they drew nearer, the vicar introduced himself. ‘Hello, Sir Baldwin, Bailiff. I am Thomas of Chard, and this well-favoured soul here is Paul, one of the Dean’s clerks.’

The vicar looked the sort of cheery man who would be keen to be first to tell a saucy story sitting about the winter fire in a tavern. He had a round face with rosy cheeks and a bright button of a nose. Blue eyes that crinkled with laughter at the edges made him look as though he was perpetually preparing to chuckle at the joke that was the world.

Paul was rather more serious-looking, with the thin frame and frowning gaze of a man who considered himself more important than others, or so Baldwin thought at first sight, but then he realized that the clerk’s stern exterior concealed a heart as merry in every respect as Thomas’s own.

‘I understand you wanted to speak to us about this foolish man Gervase,’ Paul said.

‘You saw him going to the stews?’ Simon asked.

‘Yes. He was there with a man I’ve known a while,’ Paul said. ‘A pander for some of the women down there.’ He suddenly caught sight of Baldwin’s expression. ‘Not for my own purposes, Sir Knight.’

‘This man, what was his name?’ Baldwin asked.

‘The pander? An ill-starred fellow called Mick. I’ve heard he’s been found dead.’

‘He has,’ Baldwin said. ‘I’ll tell you later, Simon,’ he added. ‘Where exactly did you see this Gervase?’

‘He was at the South Gate, and turned right towards the quay,’ Paul said. ‘I think he was going to the cock-fighting. That was two days before the theft.’

‘So his money was not stolen on his first night staying here at the chapter?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Oh, no, it was taken before he arrived here,’ Paul said.

Thomas sniffed. ‘But he came to us saying he had need of our hospitality. At first we thought it was the usual plea of the traveller who cannot find a place to rest his head.’

‘Not I, nor some few others. We thought he’d lost his money in a gaming hall or a tavern,’ Paul chuckled. ‘It’s not for nothing that he was named Gambling Gervase in the two days he stayed with us.’

‘When he reported losing money, did no one realize?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Surely any man would assume he had gamed it and lost, and that his story was a fabrication.’

Thomas explained, ‘The Dean kept news of the theft secret, so that there would be less embarrassment. And Paul saw no need to evict a man just because of his enjoyment of playing knuckles, so no one knew enough to put the two tales together, not until I learned from the Dean that he had accused us of stealing from him, and then, while seeking to find any news of the money, I told Paul, who himself told me about seeing the man down at the stews.’

‘He was very keen on gambling?’ Simon asked.

‘Oh, yes. And Mick was very good at it too,’ Paul said with a straight face. ‘He always managed to take guests to the right place to test their luck.’

Simon grinned. ‘Let me guess — this Mick never lost huge sums?’

‘Alas, you imply that he might have been dishonest. It would surely be wrong to speak ill of the poor man now he is waiting for the fossor to dig his pit.’

Thomas nodded solemnly. ‘Unless his gambling was no vice but a benefit to others?’

Paul’s lugubrious expression lightened. ‘It was a great benefit to some, I understand. And especially himself and his master. So perhaps it is no more than praising him to say how efficient he was at fleecing poor fellows like Gervase the Gambler?’

‘I think it is definitely setting praise where praise is due,’ Thomas agreed.

‘Vicar, you have put my mind at ease on this point,’ Paul nodded.

‘I am glad.’

‘You mentioned that this Mick had a master?’ Simon pressed him.

‘Ah, yes. A powerful man, a fellow called Jordan. Jordan le Bolle. He is responsible for many of the small ventures about this city which are intended to divert men’s money from their purses and into his own. A most imaginative businessman.’

‘You know so much of him? Surely he cannot be a very successful fellow, then?’ Baldwin asked.

‘There are some who are not so firmly rooted in the contemplative world as we.’ Thomas smiled. ‘We have been warned.’

‘What of?’ Simon said.

‘Well, if a load of lead arrives fresh from ship, occasionally it is as well to open the boxes and ensure that it is lead inside, and not a mess of rubble because one of Master Jordan’s men accidentally removed one and replaced it. And then arrived to sell the same lead to us at an inflated price.’

‘Or,’ Paul added, ‘perhaps a cart of iron fixings arrives, and when the top layer is removed, those beneath are found to be ancient, rusted, and useless without being reworked. It is the difficulty with works like this,’ he continued, waving a hand in the general direction of the rebuilding going on about the cathedral. ‘There are so many facets to this diamond that keeping your eye fixed to any one of them is liable to make you go cross-eyed in a short time. All we can do is hope to prevent the worst abuses. And that means stopping men like this Jordan le Bolle.’

‘We think, Paul; we should not give the impression that we have proof of any of this,’ Thomas said with a twinkle in his eye.

‘A disgraceful idea. No, gentles, please do not think that Jordan is in any way guilty. That would be a terrible slur on his character, I am sure … except …’