Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

‘But those dogs wouldn’t let us take him inside,’ Matthew declared with a shake of his head at such cruelty. ‘How could they behave in such a manner?’

‘And your men left the body to rot outside their gates when they barred them against you,’ Sir Peregrine said mildly. Then he lanced a look at Matthew. ‘You left him, a noble knight, to rot in the sun outside the Friary.’

‘It was they left him there!’

‘It was you who stole him away in order to win his money, Vicar! You played a contemptible game with a dead knight just for money!’ Sir Peregrine stated.

His green eyes flared like emerald fire for an instant, and Matthew was careful to say no more. There was no way of telling how a knight might behave when roused, and this one looked particularly dangerous.

‘What of this other body? Where is it?’

‘The mason was buried ten days ago, Sir Peregrine,’ Matthew said submissively.

‘Really?’

‘We could hardly leave the corpse sitting under a rock while we waited for a Coroner to arrive,’ Matthew said with some asperity. ‘What else could we do?’

‘That is not for me to say,’ said Sir Peregrine. ‘All I know is that the body should have remained where it was until I could view it. That is the law. So perhaps the Cathedral will have to pay a fine for that misjudgement.’

Matthew said nothing. He was beginning to learn that this man was not the amiable sort of fellow who would listen respectfully to a vicar or even the Dean about matters which really pertained solely to the Cathedral and the Chapter. He appeared to think that he had a sole right to enquire about things here in the Cathedral. Perhaps the Dean should have stood his ground more.

The knight was already striding off towards the Dean’s house, and now Matthew noticed that the Treasurer himself was standing near the corner of the Cathedral with a glower darkening his face as he watched the tall figure march away. Matthew sighed to himself and walked over to Stephen.

‘How painful was he today?’ Treasurer Stephen asked.

‘It was a difficult meeting. I think he feels that the Chapter is lax in its works when a man dies. He wants to fine us for the burial of the mason now.’

‘I did tell the Dean that we should stand our ground and insist on the man staying away. There was no need to call him. We are not part of the secular world.’

‘I think that Dean Alfred felt we should not deny him entry in case it became common knowledge that we had deaths here which we sought to conceal. After all, not so long ago it was the Cathedral which had to ask the King to hear a case of murder here, even though it was a murder committed by clerics on ecclesiastical grounds. That makes it difficult to argue that we should exclude the King’s officer now, surely.’

‘The Dean shouldn’t have allowed that man to come into our Cathedral,’ Stephen said doggedly.

‘Is there something the matter?’ Matthew asked tentatively.

The Treasurer was startled by his question. ‘What do you mean? What makes you ask that, Vicar?’

‘I just thought you were worried, Treasurer. Nothing more than that,’ Matthew said hastily.

‘No, there is nothing wrong,’ Stephen said. ‘I just don’t like to think that our work could be delayed while that man runs around, snapping at ankles and making our lives more difficult.’

Matthew nodded, but as the Treasurer turned and strode away, Matthew was reminded that the man who had ensured that his Chaunter, Walter de Lecchelade, had been murdered was also a Treasurer. John Pycot had only tried to claim the post of Dean when he already controlled the Cathedral’s purse-strings. That in some measure was the reason for his popularity.

At least this Treasurer was honourable, he told himself … yet he couldn’t entirely lose the frown as he watched Stephen hurry over the grass towards the Exchequer.

Baldwin and Simon left the tavern not long afterwards, Simon casting concerned looks at his friend as they walked down the road.

Clouds were moving swiftly across the sky, although here in the city there was little in the way of a breeze, and the shadows were growing. Simon could see that the alleys heading north from the High Street were already gloomy, and he thought they should return to the Cathedral to let the Dean know what little they had learned.

However, with Baldwin in his present black mood Simon wasn’t sure that raising the lack of progress was sensible. He was growing a little anxious. It was so unlike Baldwin. The knight could spring back from the harshest knock without hesitation, usually retaining his good humour. It was rare for him to be so affected by anything, especially by this melancholy spirit.

‘Baldwin, why don’t we return to the inn and have supper? Then we can decide what we should do next.’

‘We know what we must do next,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘Speak to this other confederate of Henry’s — the man called William who lives at the Priory. If we delay to fill your belly, we’ll find the gates locked and barred against us, for the night.’

‘I wasn’t just thinking of my stomach,’ Simon said, hurt.

Baldwin looked at him.

‘Not entirely, then?’ Simon said, with a small grin.

‘I did not mean to offend you, Simon,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘There is much on my mind, though.’

‘I wish I could help.’

‘I do too. I fear no one can.’

‘Let’s concentrate on the two murders, then,’ Simon said.

They walked to Carfoix, then down past the Fleshfold on Fore Street until they came to St Nicholas’s Lane, where they turned right. Soon they were at the Priory’s gate. It was closed, but Baldwin was sure that it wasn’t locked for the night yet; it was too early. He beat upon it with his fist.

There was a pause for some little while before shuffling steps announced the arrival of the porter. A wheezing could be heard at the other side of the gate, which showed that the man was undoubtedly of great age, and then a small hatch opened in the wicket. ‘What?’

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, this is Bailiff Puttock. We have been sent on the Bishop’s behalf to speak to a corrodian here, a Master William. Is he in?’

‘Where else would he be, Sir Knight?’

‘Please ask him to come here that we might speak to him.’

‘I’ll have to ask the Prior first.’

Baldwin’s patience was running out. ‘Then do so, and hurry! I do not have all night to wait here on your doorstep while you dawdle about.’

William’s sole consolation as he followed the porter’s pointing finger to the door, was that at least he’d got his revenge in quickly on Joel. The cretin must have gone straight to see the Keeper as soon as William had left him. He was obviously determined to get rid of William. He’d tried arrows and they had failed, so now he was attempting the legal route.

William stalked along the packed earth of the path around the little building until he came to the gateway. There he stopped, leaned on his staff and studied the two men. They had their backs to him, which he found annoying and disrespectful. He deserved better treatment.

Except, he reminded himself sadly, most of his power was gone now. ‘I’m William,’ he growled. ‘What do you mean by coming here to a place of God and demanding to see me?’

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, and I would like to speak to you.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because if you don’t, I shall inform the Coroner that I think you could have killed two men here, and were an accomplice at the very least in the murder of another,’ Baldwin said equably.

‘I don’t know what you mean!’ William swapped hands, gripping his staff in his left while he rested his right hand on his belly, tucked into his belt. It was a comforting place to put it, reminding him that once he had worn a sword here. Now all he had was a small eating-knife which was little use in a fight.