Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

William had lost all faith in the King after that. As he sat in the boat, listening to the racking sobs of the Queen bemoaning her fate, her loveless marriage, and the death of one of her favourite ladies-in-waiting — a second died a little later — William had only one thought: this was the closest he had ever come to death. There would have been no escape, had he been caught there with the Bruce’s men surrounding the place.

The King had just left him there. Him — William ! Dumped like unnecessary baggage to be rifled and casually discarded by Edward’s enemies. Sweet Mother of God, how could he do that to William? It left him with a very unpleasant taste in his mouth. And then the dizziness had started, and he knew it would soon be time to seek a quieter place to live.

He had been unhappy to leave his castle. Being in charge of a place like that, with so many squires and other men-at-arms under his control had been good. Far better than standing in a line of warriors, staring at a face only feet away, and swinging a sword.

That was battle. A man stood or fell by the power in his arms: his left holding up his shield and trying to avert blows from all directions; his right lunging with his sword, parrying, knocking aside when he could, prior to stabbing … and every so often the foe would fall, silently or shrieking, as his blood gushed like a fountain of bright crimson, drenching all those around him, or it might suddenly burst in a fine red shower. Then it was like the red mist which he had heard tell of so many times: that helmet of rage and hatred which encased a man so that, like a berserker, he could fly at his enemies with the power of ten men, scattering all before him.

Yes. Some men spoke of the honour of fighting, but Will knew better. Fighting was only ever a case of getting a good blow in first. Fuck the arse who decided to fight ‘nicely’, he wouldn’t last long. No, it was better to slay all you could as quickly as you could, and stay with the other warriors behind the shield wall. Courage and honour had nothing to do with it. Will had stood in those lines at almost every battle the King had asked him to attend. Yet the bastard had left him there at Tynemouth to die, and it was only by a miracle that he’d escaped.

When he asked to be released from the King’s service, the man had hardly bothered to talk. He’d simply indicated that Will should, ‘Speak to our Steward of the Wardrobe.’

It had hurt. After all he’d done, to be dismissed like that! It was shameful.

Still, a man must shift as best he might. This Priory had accepted the King’s money, but that wouldn’t serve to help William, should news ever be bruited abroad that he had once lied to the King’s father in order to be noticed. Whatever Edward’s personal reaction, his sidekick Despenser wouldn’t be amused. Despenser would want the money back, and he had none of the King’s subtlety. He would come and take it back with a sword in his fist, and if the money wasn’t all there, he’d ask where it might be, with that quiet, silky voice of his, while his blade was slowly sinking into Will’s belly. He had no illusions: he’d seen the Despenser at work.

That was why it was vital that his part in killing the Chaunter was kept concealed.

He had hoped to enjoy a little more time with Mabilla. In fact, when she asked him to meet her that day in the tavern, he had hoped that that might be the reason for her request. How foolish of him! She’d simply gone ranting on about that simpleton Henry, God rot his soul. Obviously, now he thought about it, if anyone had known of his desire for her, they might realise that William had an excellent motive to murder the man, and a trained warrior like him could well kill without compunction.

The only person who really knew still was Joel, though. Just as Joel knew other things about William … and hated him, too. It was the man’s own fault. He should have been quicker off the mark to tell the King about the South Gate being left open. Instead he let the opportunity slide, and William had grasped it. Of course he was jealous. And vengeful, too. He knew that the whole of Will’s career had been built upon that lie at the King’s court.

And then the corrodian had a most unsettling thought. It wasn’t only Joel who knew these things — Mabilla did, too, and she was capable of hiring a man to shoot him down.

William gave a deep sigh, then set his jaw. He’d never thought that being involved in the murder of Walter de Lecchelade could possibly come back to haunt him like this.

Udo Germeyne was very content this morning. Some little while ago he had invested in a part share of a ship’s cargo, and the proceeds from the sale had just come to him, exceeding by far his expectations. All his losses on the day he fell from his horse had been recouped, and he had also received a pleasing note from his fiancée which promised continued love and affection after their marriage. All in all, it was turning out to be a most satisfactory day. Ja !

The knock at his door made him beam. He was going to be married to the loveliest woman in the city. That was cause for delight, and he would welcome any man who entered his dwelling and offer them wine to celebrate his good fortune.

His servant walked in with two stern-looking men. ‘Master Udo, this is the Keeper of the King’s Peace and his friend Bailiff Puttock. They want to ask you about Master Henry.’

Udo’s calm wobbled. ‘Oh? Ah. So, how may I help you, Masters?’

Simon spoke. ‘We should like to hear all you know about Master Henry Saddler, the man who was murdered in the churchyard.’

‘Yes, I knew Henry. I had dealings with him recently.’

‘You owe him for a saddle?’ Simon asked.

‘No.’ Udo’s face set firmly. ‘He tried to make me buy a saddle from him, but it was lousy workmanship, and it broke when I first tested it. After that, I would buy nothing from him.’

‘We had heard that his quality was excellent.’

‘So it was, normally. Mine, that was not.’

‘And you argued with him in the Close on the afternoon of the day he was murdered.’

Udo thrust out his lips. ‘Was it then? I cannot remember.’

‘It was a loud dispute, Master Udo,’ Baldwin said. He was sitting at one of the merchant’s stools, and had listened to their exchanges with interest. ‘Others heard you.’

‘Perhaps they were thinking of another man,’ Udo said. Then: ‘Come, let me offer you wine. I have so much to celebrate. It is sad to know that I have lost a father-in-law, but I am to gain a wife. That is cause to drink and make merry, is it not?’

‘Who are you to marry?’ Baldwin smiled.

‘Why, the saddler’s daughter.’

‘Which is why she didn’t want us to worry you about our suspicions,’ Simon noted.

‘What suspicions?’

‘Oh, that a man might threaten to ruin a widow for his own profit. That a man might sue her and take her house.’

Udo smiled openly. ‘Come, you suggest that? No, I have already told them that there is no possibility that I would sue them. It would be too cruel to sue a lady who has just lost her husband.’

‘A man might kill, though, if he learned that his dearest wish to marry the woman of his choice was to be thwarted by her father,’ Baldwin said.

‘Who says so?’ This time Udo’s smile was a little more strained.

The servant came in with a pair of jugs and set them before Baldwin and Simon with two pleasant pewter goblets. Baldwin picked his up and studied it. ‘These are pretty things. Must have cost you a lot of money.’

‘They were not cheap, but you see, I am wealthy,’ Udo said, waving a hand about him.

‘A wealthy man might be righteously angry when another tries to fleece him,’ Baldwin observed.