Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

‘Hello, Coroner. Who do you want here?’

‘Is your sister here, maid?’

Agnes gave a sharp nod and stood back to let him pass.

Sir Peregrine followed her pointing finger into the main hall. A fire was lit against the chill of the evening, and its welcoming glow threw a warmth over the room. There were two children in there, the boy playing among the reeds, chuckling and snorting to himself, while the girl, who was a little older, stood anxiously and went to her mother’s side. Her eyes were wide with terror, and it struck Sir Peregrine that she held on to her mother so tightly, she might have thought he was there to take Juliana away. She had lost her father, and her terror was all too plain.

‘Mistress Juliana, I came to see how you were. I hope I find you well?’ he began clumsily. Behind him he could hear a low snigger, and he knew Agnes had walked in after him to listen to his attempt at courtesy.

Juliana sat still in a large carved chair of elm. She put a hand to her daughter’s, and slowly forced the child to relinquish her grip. ‘It’s all right, Cecily, this kind knight is here to help us, aren’t you, Sir Peregrine?’

‘With all my heart.’

‘Agnes, would you fetch us some wine?’

‘Please, do not bother for me,’ Sir Peregrine said. He felt stilted and nervous, like a young man at his first wooing. Juliana was so beautiful. It was not pure lust, but rather a delight in her physicality. There was something about her, as though there was an aura that gathered all light to her and focused it on her features. Fine, wonderful, magnificent … they must belong to a woman who was perfect in spirit too. Sir Peregrine was certain of it.

Juliana looked away. Agnes had not moved, and he could see that Juliana was uncertain what to do or say.

Agnes gave an angry exhalation, and flounced from the room. ‘If I’m not wanted, just say so. I’ll be off home,’ she called over her shoulder and slammed the door.

Walking to the cathedral close, Simon could see how distracted Baldwin was. It was unlike him, and Simon had a shrewd guess that it was more than a little because of Jeanne. To bring Baldwin’s mind to the present, he said, ‘So this Jordan is a local fellow, then?’

Baldwin glanced at him, then showed his teeth in a smile. ‘Yes. Jordan le Bolle is an important man in the city, and now we know he has something to do with Gervase’s gambling den. He seems to have employed the pander, Mick, to entice in gullible fools like Gervase, and Mick was responsible for several whores, among them Anne. Anne and Mick are dead. Betsy, the woman who helps run the whorehouse, knows who is in charge of the place, but won’t say. I doubt she dares. Any man who runs a gambling and whoring place like that is unlikely to be gentle and considerate.’

‘And with all his other ventures, he’s also trying to harm the cathedral?’ Simon said. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘I don’t know. But there is a man who may be able to help us,’ Baldwin said. He led the way to the deanery, and told the servants what he needed. A man nodded, and hurried off. Soon he returned with Thomas, who looked up at them enquiringly. ‘Yes?’

‘When we spoke earlier, it struck me that you were very tolerant of gamblers and gambling,’ Baldwin said. ‘I suddenly thought, there must be several canons here who must enjoy a game themselves.’

‘I dare say. Some of the men here would hate to think of gambling, but others would put money on how long it would take a snail to cross a path,’ Thomas said with a chuckle.

Simon nodded. ‘We were wondering which of your canons would be the most ardent gambler?’

Thomas shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say.’

Baldwin said quietly, ‘Come, Master Thomas. We know that one canon has been frequenting the gaming dens down by the river. You may have reasons for not wishing to denounce a brother from the cathedral, but we have to know. It may have a bearing on this nonsense between the cathedral and the friary, and, more, may have some relevance to a murder.’

‘You mean Daniel?’ Thomas said with a quiet gasp.

Baldwin nodded. He had been thinking of the murder of Mick, the man involved in prostitution and the gambling dens, the man who had been working for Jordan, but if his giving Thomas the impression that he had meant Daniel led to a quicker answer, he would leave Thomas in the dark.

Thomas was silent a short while. He looked uncertain, his glance casting about him, and then asked if he could consult with the Dean before saying any more. Baldwin nodded, and Thomas walked off contemplatively.

It was some little while later that he reappeared. He nodded. ‘The Dean has sent someone to ask him to come. He must explain himself to you. The confessional prevents my speaking. Would you join the Dean in his hall?’

Baldwin and Simon climbed the small staircase to the Dean’s chamber. He rose to greet them as soon as they entered.

‘Sir Baldwin, Bailiff Puttock, ah, thank you for coming up here. I don’t feel it’s likely that the, um, man will find it hard to explain himself, but just in case, perhaps you could, um, let me remain here?’

Both nodded after exchanging a glance. Simon was pleased to see that his friend was apparently as baffled as he was. The Dean sniffed, cleared his throat, and seated himself again in his chair, tapping his fingers on the arms irritably, and finally bellowing for a jug of wine and three goblets, before putting his chin on his hand and staring uncommunicatively at the floor.

It was some little while before the man they were waiting for turned up.

Peter de la Fosse was tall and powerful-looking, compared with the frail figure of the Dean, but he had none of the strength of purpose of the older man. ‘You asked me to come here, Dean?’

‘These men wish to ask you some — ah — questions. I suggest you answer them honestly. Honestly, mind. On your oath!’ the Dean stated harshly.

Simon glanced at him in surprise. The Dean was always such a calm, quiet man, it seemed odd to hear him in what was clearly a foul temper.

‘I will be honest, I swear,’ Peter said, his hand on his rosary.

‘Good,’ Simon said. ‘We wanted to speak to any canons or others who could have been involved in gambling recently.’

Peter shot a look to the Dean, who scowled at him. ‘Answer!’

‘Yes, I have taken the odd wager. Not very recently.’

‘How much?’ Baldwin asked.

‘A few pounds.’

‘How much?’ This time it was the Dean, who turned in his seat to stare uncompromisingly.

‘Nineteen.’

‘Pounds?’ Simon demanded. ‘That’s a fortune!’

‘It wasn’t my fault, Dean. I didn’t mean to … but that nasty little man Mick kept persuading me to go back and see if my luck would change. It had to change! He kept telling me that no one was so unlucky for long, so I had to start winning again, as I always had in the beginning, but …’

‘It never happened,’ Simon breathed. ‘It never does. The game was fixed. It always is. Men don’t own gambling halls for fun. It’s always because they want to make money. And they do it by taking yours.’

‘I never thought I could come to owe so much,’ Peter said brokenly. ‘I don’t know how it grew to such a sum, but suddenly there it was.’

‘And you couldn’t repay it?’ Baldwin asked, thinking of Gervase’s tale.

‘Nineteen pounds? No, not quickly. And then this other man asked me if I could help him, and if I did, he would settle my debts for me.’

‘A man called Jordan le Bolle?’ Baldwin guessed.

Peter’s hesitation said it all. Alarmed, he wondered whether this was all a game to make him accuse Jordan. Jordan would never forgive a man who betrayed him. Everyone knew that. Then he glanced at the Dean’s face and realized that there could be no collusion between these men and Jordan le Bolle. ‘Yes. How do you know him?’