Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

‘So hope they keep quiet. You said you’d threatened Juliana: surely that’ll scare her into silence. She wouldn’t risk her children’s lives, would she?’

Jordan shook his head in an unconvinced manner. ‘I don’t know. I don’t like to think that they both have so much information about me. Perhaps it would be best if I were merely to have them removed. Without Daniel, there’s only them who are a threat to me, after all.’

‘You can’t kill them, Jordie! What if you were seen? It’s one thing to kill a man like the sergeant — I mean, anyone could have wanted him killed, from Ham’s friends, to Henry or Est … any number of people. But to kill Daniel’s wife as well, that would be too much …’

‘If you reckon. Still, it’s your neck, I suppose,’ Jordan said easily.

‘Mine?’

‘I wasn’t there when Daniel died. I was here. But you weren’t. Sabina would vouch for you, I suppose, not tell the truth about where you were? She’d back up your story, wouldn’t she? Yes, if you think it’s safe enough for you to leave the women alive, that’s fine. It’s your life at risk. Not mine.’

Jordan smiled at him, but not this time , Reg swore to himself. He had submitted to people all his life — Jordan, Sabina, others — and all that had happened was, he had lost his son. He was done with doing other men’s bidding.

He wouldn’t kill for Jordan. Jordan could find another assassin.

Early the next morning Baldwin woke to find himself alone in bed. He opened his eyes and glanced about the room, only to see Jeanne at the window, a loose-fitting tunic about her, staring out at the dawn.

He stood and went to her side. ‘I miss Richalda.’

‘I do too,’ she said.

There was a soft sadness about her which he hated to hear. ‘My love, I want to get home as soon as possible.’

‘Good. Just finish your business here, and we’ll return.’

‘I will … if it cannot be cleared easily and quickly, I shall tell the Dean that it is beyond me. What can I do, after all?’ he asked with a sudden frustration. ‘There is one man I should speak to, this Estmund, but he has disappeared. His friend Henry may know where he is, but he will not tell me. Unless I speak to Est, I cannot learn what happened there in Daniel’s house. Why should I stay here any longer to torment myself? I may as well be in Crediton as here. Estmund has probably fled the city. Ach! And then there is this dead pander too, and his whore … My arm hurts, my heart aches, and I want to see you happy again. Jeanne, when we return, we shall go for a long ride each day. We could ride off to your estate — we haven’t been there for a long time. Would you like that?’

She looked up at him. ‘You mean that? We could go and visit Liddinstone?’

‘I swear it. I will do anything to bring back my happy, smiling, cheerful wife again.’

‘Then you have succeeded,’ she said.

‘Good. My love, it is good to see you smile again,’ he said.

They broke their fast in the hall of the inn with Simon and Edgar. Baldwin was without his sword as they ate, but before Simon and he left, he sent Edgar to the room again to fetch his little riding sword. It was only two feet long, maybe a little more, and had a blade of peacock blue that caught the sun whenever he drew it. It was a perfect balance for his hand, and he took it from the scabbard now, studying it to make sure that there was no dirt or rust on it.

‘Expecting trouble?’ Simon asked lightly.

‘Today, speaking to this man Jordan, yes, I think I am,’ he answered, and told Edgar to remain with Jeanne.

He led the way from the inn, with a backward glance at his wife, who lifted a hand in farewell, and then he and Simon were out in the daylight. Baldwin was glowering at the roadway as he walked, and Simon knew better than to interrupt his thoughts.

They stopped to collect Sir Peregrine on the way, and then the three of them walked down the road to Jordan’s house. Two men were slouching about outside.

‘Any sign of him?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.

‘No, sir. Stayed here all night and no sign of him at all. If he was down at the brothel over by the river, he’d not be able to get back inside the city anyway. He’d be locked out after dark.’

‘True enough,’ Baldwin said. He went to the door and knocked politely. ‘Is your master at home?’ he asked the bottler, who shook his head.

‘So what now?’ Sir Peregrine asked as they stood at the bottom of the road eyeing the two sentries.

‘I would suggest that we ought to go to the friary and see what this man Guibert has to say. But first …’ Baldwin said, and he paused. Walking back towards the watchmen, he beckoned a young boy and leaned down to speak to him, then passed a coin to the watchman nearest him. ‘This man will give you that penny when you return and tell him the reply. Is that clear?’

‘Yes. Find Henry and ask him to meet you at the cathedral near the conduit.’

‘Go!’ Baldwin saw Simon watching and listening. He returned to Sir Peregrine and Simon and shrugged. ‘It is probably pointless, but it may help.’

Friar John was already in the church when he heard the calls for the Prior, and soon he realized that a brother friar was waiting for him to be finished. With a last obeisance, he stood, bowed, made the sign of the cross, and gradually left the room, walking backwards respectfully.

‘What is it?’

‘John, the Prior has asked you to join him in the cloister. There are some men here to see him. They’re asking about the theft of Sir William’s body.’

Friar John rubbed his hands together. He was looking forward to this.

‘Prior,’ he said as he entered the grassed space. This was one of his favourite places, a clear, open area where he could meditate and study without interruption. It was important that he and the other friars should be educated to the highest possible standard about the latest views on natural philosophy, and this was the place to which he retired when he needed to consider new arguments for his preaching.

The men with the Prior were not religious. Two looked like knights, and one was a rather more disreputable-looking character, with strong shoulders and a square face.

‘John, I would be grateful if you could tell these gentles about the late Sir William and how he came to be here.’

‘Sir William was always a keen son of Christ. He fought in the Holy Land to try to protect it from the infidels, and was wounded out there. Returning, he took up the life of a knight in a small manor in Hatherleigh, and as he grew older, with no family, he bequeathed his estates and monies to us here at the priory, and came to live with us as a confrater. He took his part in our duties, shared our food such as it is, and spent his time in prayer. He was a most devout, good man. That was why, when he was dying, he expressed a desire that he should be buried here in our church. And that his funeral should be conducted here. The reason for that was simple — he always believed us Friars Preacher to be more holy than those who live over there.’ He pointed with his chin to the west where the canons had their houses.

‘He bequeathed his all to us, you see,’ Guibert said. There was a touch of triumphalism in his voice, and John could hardly blame him for it. ‘He gave over everything to us, for the safe protection of his soul. And those terrible men in the cathedral’s chapter sought to steal it all, and his body. And now they have held the funeral service for him.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed mildly. ‘And you owe the cathedral its due. Would you make that money over to them?’

‘I see no reason why I should make any money over to them! They stole his body and his funerary ornaments. All the candles, the cloths, everything was taken by the rowdy villains who came in here. One of my brethren was knocked down and injured.’