Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

The buggers here were all bone idle, of course, and the loss of Saul was a pain, but at least the place appeared to be buzzing, even if the labourers were all sheep-fondling fornicators. Yes, the walls would soon rise again and then the roof trusses could be installed. They’d arrived a little while back and were all stored in the main shed while the walls were being finished. As soon as that was done, they’d be able to get the roof proper up, and then the interior works could be set in train. It hadn’t been an easy task so far, but with luck it would grow easier.

Although Robert de Cantebrigge was by no means superstitious, he didn’t like the fact that there was a dead man still lying in the chapel. He couldn’t voice his concerns, but sometimes he felt he’d be happy to take his money and leave this Cathedral. Something was wrong here.

He had just come to this conclusion when he reached the walls of the old nave, and he stood there eyeing them contemplatively.

Much could be saved, he reckoned. The old stone could be reused in places, but he’d still have to order a lot of rocks from Beer and the local quarries. He’d already persuaded the good Bishop that they should make use of Caen stone in places, and Bishop Walter had agreed. Robert fancied that the latter wanted to be remembered for this great edifice. Well, if Robert had anything to do with it, Bishop Walter would be!

These walls must come down, probably as far as the window sills, maybe a little more — he would wait and see what condition the base of the walls were in before deciding — and then he could start erecting the new ones. Yes, he was looking forward to that.

There was a rope dangling nearby, and he tutted to himself. Ropes should always be neatly stored and carefully tied. If he’d told them all that once, he’d told them a hundred times. Following the line of the rope, he saw that it rose to a block, and then dropped into a space between some rocks and rubble thrown down from the top of the walls, not far from the northwestern corner of the Cathedral. It seemed peculiar. He couldn’t see why the rope should be lying over there; there was nothing to lift over that way. It was simply a pile of old stones from the walls which had to be sorted into those which were reusable and those which weren’t.

He was frowning about this when Thomas walked to his side.

‘Master, can I have a word with you?’

‘Thomas? Aye. What have you done now, laddie? Killed off another bloody mason? You may not be at all bad at your job, son, but you’ll end up doing it on your own if you’re not careful.’

Thomas did not smile. ‘It’s nothing like that,’ he said. ‘I heard you were going to work on another building soon.’

‘Yeah. I’m running four building projects right now, and it’s time I went to check on the others … why? You bored up here?’

‘Not bored, no, but I’d prefer to leave. I can only serve to upset Saul’s wife if she sees me, and that’s a sore grief to me.’

‘His death was a sore grief to me, too. He was a good mason, sod it! I’ll think about it, anyway.’

‘Thank you, Master.’

‘Now get back to work, will you?’

‘Yes!’ Thomas smiled. He grabbed a ladder and began to climb. As he did so, the master eyed the rope again. Giving it a tentative yank, he was about to leave it, when some instinct made him pull on it. It came fairly easily, although there was a dead weight at the other end.

‘Christ and all His saints!’ he bawled, when he saw what dangled on the other end.

‘So on the night your husband died,’ Baldwin said, ‘did you know he intended to go to the Cathedral?’

Mabilla closed her eyes a moment. ‘I did. I told him he should confess his sins, God help me.’

‘Why? What were they?’ Baldwin pressed her sharply.

She opened her eyes with resignation. ‘He had participated in a murder many years ago. Have you heard of the death of Walter de Lecchelade?’

Simon looked at Baldwin with bemusement. ‘Not me.’

Baldwin was peering at the floor with narrowed eyes. ‘I believe I have! It was before your birth, probably, Simon. Wasn’t it because of the murder that the Bishop was granted the right to build a wall about the Cathedral? I recall someone telling me of the tale when I was a lad.’

‘A body of men set upon de Lecchelade, who was the Chaunter, after Matins one morning. Twenty of them. He was killed, and the men escaped. Later it was learned that the Dean of the time was responsible, and he was put in gaol. Well, the Dean wasn’t alone. He hired men to do his work for him, and my Henry was one of those men.’

‘I see,’ Baldwin said. ‘And the crime has been weighing heavily on his soul?’

‘Yes. He wanted to confess. Particularly since … one of the men who was injured that night is now a friar called Nicholas. He was terribly wounded in defence of his master, Chaunter de Lecchelade.’

‘So Henry’s guilt was that he had conspired to help the Chaunter to be killed? Not that he had himself killed the Chaunter?’

Mabilla lifted her chin proudly. ‘My Henry was no murderer. I don’t think he could have struck a blow like that, even had he so wished. Perhaps he conspired, as you say, but he wouldn’t have been able to kill a man in cold blood. He did tell me that many of his friends were involved. Maybe it was one of those events where people can be persuaded to join in against their better natures.’

‘These others with him — do you know who they were? I should like to speak with them.’

‘Henry always spoke of three companions in his past. There was William, whom I have already mentioned, then Joel, who is a joiner up in the High Street. You can’t miss his workshop. It’s a large place, with a good wooden sign over the door showing a carving of a carpenter with his adze in his hand.’

‘Who was the third?’

She frowned. ‘There was another man who was a close friend of Henry’s before the Chaunter’s death. I think Henry called him Tom.’

‘Do you know where he lives?’

‘I got the impression that he was dead, or that he had left the city. I have certainly never met a friend of Henry’s called Tom in all the years I’ve known him.’

‘We could ask at the Cathedral,’ Simon said. He held his finger at another point on the ledger. ‘Mistress Mabilla, there is an interesting entry here. It shows money being paid for a saddle by a Master Udo Germeyne of Bolehille, but then there is a large mark alongside it, a star. And I don’t see where the money is supposed to have been paid in.’

‘Udo has not paid for the saddle yet, that is all,’ Mabilla said calmly, while inwardly she felt her heart quail. Please God, she prayed, let it be nothing to do with him.

No. In her heart of hearts, she had no doubt. Only one man could have killed Henry. It must have been William, because he wanted her back as his possession.

Matthew was one of the first to hear the Master Mason’s cry. He followed Robert de Cantebrigge’s pointing finger to see the body swinging in the breeze.

‘Sweet Lord Jesus!’ he exclaimed.

He and Stephen had just left the Treasurer’s house and were walking to the Exchequer for their morning’s review of the previous day’s accounts when they saw Robert de Cantebrigge looking agitated. The two had hurried to his side, their black gowns flapping.

‘Oh, dear heaven,’ Matthew said with a wince. ‘He is dead, is he?’

‘With his neck twisted like that? Yes, I rather think he might be,’ Stephen said caustically. ‘Master Mason, send for the Dean. God only knows what he’ll make of this, but we ought to give him fair warning, I suppose.’

‘This is terrible,’ Matthew said. Inside the leather cylinder gripped in his hand was the latest fabric roll, which detailed all the money paid and owed for the last couple of weeks’ work. ‘It’s the last thing we need … the poor fellow, of course, but really, we should be trying to complete the Cathedral, and we can’t wait for the Coroner to come and investigate another death!’