Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

‘Who are “they”?’ Simon demanded.

‘The ones there in the gambling rooms. Mick took me to them. One was Jordan, the other Reginald. They were the men who ran the place.’

‘Reginald who?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Gyll, or something. He was with Jordan le Ball or someone. They owned it, and the whorehouse too, according to Mick. He seemed quite scared of them both, although I don’t know why. They seemed reasonable enough to me,’ Gervase said, putting on his man-of-the-world expression.

‘Did you think so?’ Baldwin asked in a quiet voice. ‘What is your trade, Master Gervase?’

‘I am a merchant — but business is not good just now.’

‘If you were to start trying to sell goods to make some money instead of robbing a cathedral, you might find yourself in more luck,’ Simon said harshly.

Gervase had risen and was staring pathetically about him. ‘Don’t let him hit me!’

‘You’re not worth the effort,’ Simon said contemptuously and sat back with his arms folded. ‘But you will answer us now.’

‘I want to go. You’re holding me against my will.’

‘The little man has some fight left in him,’ Simon said to Baldwin.

‘Yes. Very well, Gervase. You may go. Oh, one thing, though …’

‘What?’

‘I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace and my friend here is a bailiff. We are working for the Bishop and the Dean. We could let it be known that you have been very helpful to us.’

‘That’s a threat?’ Gervase asked with a snigger.

‘You went to the gambling with a Master Mick?’ Baldwin asked.

‘He’s a friend of mine.’

‘Was. He’s dead.’

‘The poor fellow. I didn’t think he looked …’ Gervase looked at him doubtfully. ‘Are you threatening me now?’

‘No. I am telling you. He was murdered; his throat was cut. Did you meet a whore with him? A girl named Anne?’

‘Yes, a lovely little thing. Very young and pretty. She has such life in her.’

‘She’s dead. The man who killed Mick also cut her dreadfully about the face and body, and she committed suicide.’

Gervase stared at him, and his face seemed to crumple. ‘Both of them? Who would murder them?’

‘Did either of them mention that they might be leaving the city soon?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Mick did say that he was going to, yes. He said he was going to marry and settle. He’d got some money saved and was going to head south to the coast.’

‘That was why he died,’ Baldwin said flatly.

‘It’s no crime to marry,’ Gervase said. He was growing tearful.

Simon leaned forward, his elbow on the table top. ‘Are you being intentionally obtuse? Anne was going to run off with Mick. Her master, the man who owned her, was not happy to let that happen. He tortured and terrified her and murdered Mick, just to leave a message to all the other whores who work for him. He scared her badly, and scarred her still more, and she killed herself.’

‘Sweet Mother Mary, Blessed …’

‘It’s a little late to pray, when you’ve just been planning to defraud the chapter of a large sum of money,’ Simon rasped.

‘I didn’t think it would hurt them! The Dean and his canons are so rich. And they said it wouldn’t hurt. ’

‘Reginald and Jordan?’

‘They offered to help me. They gave me some money.’

‘In exchange for what?’ Simon asked. ‘Come on! If men like them offer to advance money, they demand repayment very soon after. They tell you to bring it to them or they’ll break a finger, or cut off a toe, and if you still fail to bring them their cash, they’ll break an arm, until you suddenly learn how to bring money in. Perhaps by selling something; more likely by robbing someone. And so the cycle of violence continues … What did they demand from you, these usurers?’

Gervase shook his head. ‘They wanted nothing of the sort. The man Reg gave me some money, and was sympathetic about my bad luck at the knuckles, and Jordan said that I might grow luckier soon. I offered them a ring and some plate as collateral, but that was all, and they didn’t even ask for that — I had to suggest it.’

‘They wanted nothing?’

‘Well of course they did say that if my claim against the cathedral was successful, they would want their money back, but that was all. They seemed perfectly happy with matters.’

‘Then you may consider yourself very fortunate,’ Baldwin said.

Simon bared his teeth. ‘You think so? Baldwin, I’m learning more about gambling and whores since I’ve moved to Dartmouth. If this man was to leave the city suddenly, those two would know about it in moments, and a fellow would be sent after him to rob him on his way home. That’s how they work: no one is ever entirely free from such men, ever.’

‘You mean I can’t leave Exeter?’ Gervase squeaked.

‘You can,’ Simon said. ‘But only if you go now, quickly, without waiting to hear from the cathedral about any money you say you’re owed. Jordan and his friend won’t think that you’d leave without a profit. They couldn’t understand that, so they’ll assume you will be here until the chapter pays you, and then they’ll do everything they can to catch you and take it. And they won’t want to leave a living witness to their theft, of course.’

‘My God! I am undone!’

Baldwin glanced at him unsympathetically. ‘Yes. You are. And if you want to survive, you’d best begin telling us all about your losses, where you played, who else was there, and what Mick and Anne said to you about Jordan and his companion.’

Henry felt the pain quite low in his back today. There was never a day when he was entirely without pain, of course, but this one was a little different, a sharper one that stabbed quite deeply in his right buttock.

He closed his eyes, prayed, and continued, snapping the reins and forcing himself not to squirm in discomfort as he went up the hill that led from the North Gate towards the Duryard.

It had been an easy decision to help the daft beggar. That lad had a head more full of shit than many a scavenger’s bucket. Henry would want to help him even if he believed that Est had actually killed Daniel. He wasn’t sure. He’d never thought Est had it in him to hurt anyone — but if he had killed Daniel, Henry couldn’t blame him, he thought, feeling his withered arm.

Everyone else would think he’d done it. Well, they all knew he was the one who used to nip into their houses and watch the kids. Some men didn’t want him doing that, and they beat the shite out of him. The fathers were the ones who got most worried by him. There was something about an innocent sort of man who only wanted to look at the children — it scared them. He scared them. It’d be better if he was a real murderer, or a thief, to listen to the way some of them spoke about him, poor old Est. He never did anyone any harm, but they talked about him as though he was a madman, ready to pull a knife and cut the throats of their children just for a trophy.

The mothers were more sensible, most of them. After all, they knew Est, and knew what had happened to him. Perhaps the women just understood that dreadful loss, losing his wife and child in the same short period. All women grew used to the idea of miscarriage and failed birthings and dead infants. They were just a fact of living. No matter how good or clever you were, how much money you had, how well you tried to live your life, there was always that risk. So many children died young, it was a miracle not more mothers and fathers went mad with grief. Some did, of course, but many simply shrugged, wiped away the tears, and got on with their lives again.

Ach! What was the point of running over all that again. Everyone knew that Est couldn’t really have done for Daniel … except that they knew Est had been there. And quite a few — not all, but many — would be happy to see Est die anyway. They would have a poor fellow removed just because he unsettled them. They wouldn’t see him executed because of his difference necessarily, but if he was accused and convicted of murder, they’d accept that judgement and go to watch him swing. Good sport, watching the felons dance their last jig.