Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

All the way, he couldn’t help but ask himself what he would do were she to be hurt. It was a terrible thought, but already he was looking on her as a possible lover. It was ridiculous, of course. She would want to spend a decent period in mourning no matter what he wanted, and even then she might not look favourably on him. Perhaps she simply didn’t like him. It was possible. He was not the most attractive man in the world, when all was said and done, and there were plenty of better catches for a lovely woman like her. No, she wouldn’t want him. But just in case she might, he wanted to think that she was unhurt.

There were lights everywhere. The place was brimming with people, some shouting, two crying, one sitting numbly on the steps leading to the door. Most were noisy, animated with excitement. It took some effort to forge a path through them all and reach the back room.

‘My … lady,’ he gasped as he saw Juliana. She sat on the side of a palliasse, and in her arms were her two children. Both were wailing with fear, and when she looked up at him, he saw a silent panic in her eyes. Agnes was not far away, weeping, and the old widow Gwen was washing her hands in a bucket. Only then, as his heart was filling with relief at their safety, did he suddenly notice the spreading stain at her breast, and he felt his entire body chill.

Baldwin pushed Sir Peregrine aside. ‘What happened here?’

Juliana could say nothing. It was Agnes who spoke, her voice taut with fear and misery, her hand on her sister’s shoulder as though afraid to let go. ‘I was here sleeping with Juliana to keep her company, and we heard the children screaming, so we hurried down the stairs, and there were two men fighting down here. Him and another,’ she said, pointing to Est’s body.

‘It was Jordan,’ Juliana said. Her voice was little more than a whisper, and she had to cough several times as she spoke, small droplets of blood spattering the palm of her hand. ‘Jordan le Bolle. He came back to kill my darlings. The death of my husband was not enough; he wanted to take away my precious ones too.’

The girl burrowed her face into her mother’s neck. ‘I thought he was going to kill me,’ she sobbed. ‘Don’t die, Mummy, don’t leave me!’

For a moment no one could speak. Peregrine could feel the tears in his eyes, but couldn’t trust his voice. He glanced at the other men, and Baldwin caught his glance. The Keeper’s eyes were shining too, and Peregrine had a suspicion that he was thinking of his own daughter. At last Baldwin said gruffly, ‘Don’t worry, child, we won’t let him come back again.’

‘I don’t want to have him here again.’

‘He won’t come back,’ Baldwin said quietly, but with conviction. ‘We shall see to that, maid.’

He glanced at Simon. Both had the same thought: that this child would soon be orphaned. ‘Jordan escaped from here?’

‘Yes, Keeper,’ a man called. ‘But us’ll ketch him.’

Simon asked, ‘Did you hear anything? Did this Est say anything?’

Agnes nodded, her hand gripping her sister’s shoulder more tightly. ‘When Jordan fled, he said one thing. He put out his hand to Cecily here and said, “Farewell, Cissy.”’

‘Cissy? Why say that?’ Baldwin asked.

Agnes shrugged. She could feel Juliana shivering, and suddenly heard the chattering of teeth. The thought that this ruin was her fault, caused by her adultery with Jordan, was enough to make her feel physically sick … No, it was more a bone weariness and despair. This was her fault: Jordan had only seduced her in order to snare Daniel, and now he had killed Juliana in revenge for the destruction of his plans.

It was Cecily who stirred from her mother’s shoulder. In the dim light she looked like an old woman as she gazed at Baldwin. ‘It was his daughter. He loved her. He told me.’

She glanced at his body, and then started weeping again for her mother.

Jordan had to run fast. He could hear the shouts and cries as the hunters hared after their quarry: him. There was a street ahead. It was the high street, and he paused, then ran straight over, darting into a noisome alley, rushing down it at full tilt until he reached the turn he was looking for, a second alley, slightly wider than the last. He ran on, his hand on his belly, the pain growing like a burn, and suddenly came out into a broader way near the main gate to the priory. Turn right, quick, then along the tiny way that gave out to the back. No one knew the second door, only him and Reg. That was why it was safe. He knew it so well, he could go along this path blindfold. He felt his way along the wall, found the gate, opened it and entered the garden.

At once all the noises of the city were muted. He took a deep breath, winced, felt again at his belly, and realized that he was losing a lot of blood. The shirt was drenched, so it felt. He thought he should find a leech. Shame he couldn’t go back to that short fat bastard in his street. He’d have been competent, surely.

There was a pattering of booted feet approaching down the alley. Quickly he rushed across the yard to the door. It was a plain timber door, half obscured by an old rose that climbed this wall. Just as he reached it, the voices of his pursuers came from the other side of the garden wall, and he didn’t dare knock in case they heard.

He shrank into the stonework and listened, his mouth agape, trying to sort out what was happening. There were several men shouting farther up the street, and occasional whispers at the other side of the wall.

And then he heard the other sound, the soft, kind, sweet voice of his own dear wife.

‘Where can he go?’ Baldwin muttered. Simon and he were standing in the street again, staring northwards along the way, as though by dint of concentration they could pierce all the buildings with their eyes and see the running figure of Jordan.

Simon had his sword in his hand already. ‘Christ Jesus, if someone did that to my Meg … she’s going to die, isn’t she?’

‘She cannot live,’ Baldwin said with certainty.

Simon nodded, and gripped his hilt more firmly. He’d be happy to cut the murderer’s head from his shoulders to repay him for the suffering of the family in that room.

‘He has been concealed all day,’ Baldwin reasoned. ‘He must have a place to hide somewhere.’

Simon nodded. ‘He must have gone to Reg’s place — or if he didn’t, surely Reg will know where he has been. They were close partners, those two.’

‘He may be hiding there now,’ Baldwin agreed.

They grabbed three men and set off at a fast pace.

Reginald was satisfied. He rolled over in bed and put his hand out to the jug. After that one cry of delight, Mazeline was already almost asleep, and he had to pull his arm from beneath her where he had been cupping her breast, so that he could rise. He wanted to know what the noise was outside. There was so much shouting and rattling of weapons, he wondered at first whether the rebel Mortimer had landed at Topsham and come to attack the city to steal it from the King … but that was crazy. If there’d been anything like that, he’d have heard before now. No, it had to be something else. He climbed up from his bed, and went to the hall. From there he could hear the shouts again, but now they seemed to be growing fainter. There was less noise in the street.

Ach, it was likely just the apprentices again. Every so often the little devils would run riot, enjoying themselves for a few hours before the law caught up with them. It was hard to criticize. After all, everyone was young once, and they’d all participated in similar activities.

He chuckled to think of the things that he and Jordan had got up to, and then, as the noises faded, he stopped. His humour left him as he heard the soft tapping on the door. Only two people knew of that door.