Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

Taking a reluctant sip, he could feel the taste. It exploded on his tongue, a glorious, rounded, sweet wine. It was better than his own best quality. ‘That is …’ He looked at the porter. ‘You are a man of surprises.’

‘Just because I’m a porter doesn’t mean I don’t like good wine. I have an arrangement with the vintner. When I fetch my wine, he gives me good quality.’

‘I see,’ Baldwin grinned. He wondered what the porter offered in return. Perhaps an easy route into or out of the Cathedral’s Close, if the vintner wanted to visit a young female companion, or was it simply that the porter knew something about the man? There were so many possibilities. Maybe the vintner had been blackmailed by someone else, for example, and had killed the saddler to stop news of his misdeeds escaping? Anything was possible — but speculation was no aid to a man trying to find the truth, Baldwin told himself.

‘So tell me, what was your perception when you saw the body? I assume you wouldn’t think that Paul could be the murderer?’

‘Him? He’d crap himself if he was told to kill a rabbit,’ Janekyn said contemptuously. ‘No, I reckon the man who killed Henry was probably older.’

‘Why?’

‘When I got in there, the body was lying in front of the door, legs first, head away. Looking at him, I thought he’d just walked in and been killed from behind. That means someone who was sure of his attack. There was only one wound I saw, too. No practice stabs first. How I see it is, the saddler was with someone he knew and trusted, he walked into the chapel first, and soon as he was inside, the other man shoved his knife in his back. One push, into the heart, and that was that.’

Baldwin gave a shrug. ‘Did you smell anything in there? A candle recently snuffed?’

Janekyn gave a sour grin. ‘All I smelled was blood. I wasn’t going to go and search for more. No, I sent Paul to fetch the Dean while I waited there with the body. That was that.’

‘What of earlier? Did you see anyone in the Close who was acting or looking suspicious?’

Janekyn frowned. ‘There was only the physician, Ralph. He was wandering about the place when Henry came in, and he asked for his money for treating the German. Henry just told him he’d bring it later, and hurried on. Ralph didn’t look happy to be brushed off.’

‘Was there anyone else?’

‘Not that I saw, no. And Ralph didn’t kill him — not just then, anyway. The two parted, and Ralph came back towards the gate. I was called by a man walking in just then and didn’t see him actually leave, but he probably did. He doesn’t live too far from here.’

‘But he could have turned back and gone to lie in wait for Henry,’ Baldwin commented.

‘Aye. And he could have sprouted wings and flown to the chapel’s roof,’ Janekyn grunted. ‘But it’s best not to guess when it’s a man’s neck you’re wagering.’

Although Baldwin questioned him on other aspects of the case, he could bring no further light to the affair. The porter had seen no one else talking to Henry that day, nor did he see where Ralph had gone, and there was no one suspicious who entered the Close. Baldwin left him as the light faded and stood outside the lodge, gazing at the labourers packing their tools amid the mess and chaos of the building site.

He scarcely noticed the man who hurried into the Close like one fleeing from the Devil himself.

Thomas hardly knew where to go or what to do. After he’d been accused by Dan, he’d run away from that hovel, up to an alehouse he spied from the top of the alleyway, but as soon as he reached the door, he turned and started running towards the East Gate, desperate to be as far as possible from Sara.

Ah, God! He’d never be able to forget the expression of horror on her face. There was nothing he could say in his defence. Nothing at all. It was true. He had killed her husband through his negligence; that meant he had killed her son and reduced her to abject poverty. It was all his fault. If his death could ease her mind, he’d kill himself, just to avenge the dreadful crime his slipshod work had caused. At least that way she might find some peace, and so might he, too. Since returning here, he had known little enough.

Standing in the Close, he felt his legs beginning to move towards the stark walls of the Cathedral. There was a ladder propped against the scaffolding, and he walked to it like a man in a dream. The last few workers were clearing up, most of them had already gone, and few noticed as Thomas stumbled over the ground, his face pale and preoccupied. Suddenly, he tripped over a loose rock and fell heavily onto a large shard of stone. The splinter was as sharp as a fragment of glass, and it tore a great rent in his hosen and sliced through his shin like a knife, but he didn’t heed it. He righted himself and continued on his way.

At the bottom of the ladder, he stared upwards into the darkening sky. Turning, he saw the evening star gleaming, but then it was erased by a cloud, and as though this was the signal, he put his hand on the ladder and lifted his foot to climb.

‘It’s a little late for that.’

Thomas heard the voice and instantly his blood froze. His head was suddenly an awful weight, and he had to rest it upon the ladder’s rung between his hands.

‘Nicholas,’ he breathed, but his voice was a moan.

Baldwin awoke feeling entirely unrested. There was a lethargy about him that was unusual for him. An old campaigner, he was used to taking his sleep wherever there was a dry place to rest his head, and normally he would be fully asleep in moments, but not now. Just now he felt as though his life was fraying, and he was distracted.

He had hoped that coming here to investigate a murder would allow him to forget his problems at home, but it had proved to be impossible. He had betrayed his wife, and that act of disloyalty must inevitably alter their relationship; perhaps even break it.

In his mind he saw Jeanne’s face again when he had allowed his anger to show after her light comment about the peasant girl. There was such a depth of pain and hurt in her eyes, he wasn’t sure how he could ever retrieve the situation. But retrieve it he must.

The room he had here at the Talbot Inn was large for a city inn. He always tried to rent this room when he needs must travel to Exeter, because he had a dislike, based upon too many years of sleeping in dorters with snoring companions, of sharing a room with other travellers. That was one thing that he would never miss about the life of a warrior monk!

Here he had a good-sized bed with a palliasse that was large enough to accommodate five men in a normal inn, but Baldwin had never yet been asked to share it. The master of this house had been a merchant until his profits from his excellent ale-brewing showed him that his talents were being wasted in providing ale only for his own household. He stuck up his bush over the door, and now his ale accounted for half of his business. A wealthy man, he was perfectly happy to accommodate Baldwin’s need for solitude. In return, Baldwin paid rather more than the room would normally be worth.

Today he awoke early, and with a slight headache from a disturbed night’s sleep. He was tempted to roll over and close his eyes again, but instead he lay back and stared at the cracked ceiling, trying to make sense of his feelings for Jeanne. Then, in despair, he pushed her from his mind and considered instead the murder.

This was one of those killings in which it was quite likely that no one would ever be brought to justice. There were cases of that nature — and although Baldwin knew that his own methods of detection were more successful than those of other men, still there were many murderers who committed their crimes and were never caught by him. Some men were too clever, others fiendishly lucky; most murderers were caught because they made mistakes or were too stupid to conceal their crimes. Baldwin had once found a man who denied the murder, but had cleaned his knife of blood by wiping the blade on his own jack. It was still fresh when Baldwin caught him, and although he claimed that he had killed a dog, he could not recall where, nor where he had put the body.