Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

‘You must only recently have been made Coroner?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘Oh, yes. I was offered the chance of this job earlier in the summer. My predecessor died — but I understand you were there?’

In a flash, Baldwin saw Sir Roger de Gidleigh’s face as the crossbow bolt slammed into his spine, the expression that burst across his face as he began to die. ‘Yes,’ he said more gravely.

Sir Peregrine saw how his face grew still, and regretted his levity. Fortunately the Dean also noticed, and asked Simon whether they had learned anything about the two murders. Sir Peregrine sat back and concentrated as Simon told of all they had heard.

‘It seems that there are many who would have sought to kill the saddler, then,’ he said when Simon was finished. ‘And as many who’d like to see the friar dead.’

‘Not quite as many,’ Simon said. ‘There were many who’d like both to die, from the frame-maker Joel to the King’s corrodian William; but the saddlemaker had others who’d have liked to see him dead — the German, Udo, for example.’

‘There may well be many more, too,’ the Dean said. It was a proof of how deeply he was considering the matter that his speech was unaffected by stammering. ‘The Treasurer, Stephen, remembers that time. He was here. It was before my arrival, of course, but I have heard that there was great dissension within the Cathedral.’

‘We should talk to Stephen to see which of the men still in the Cathedral were here at that time,’ Simon suggested. ‘We could then question them to see who else had a motive to kill these two.’

‘You think that’ll help?’ Sir Peregrine said. He leaned forward, cupping his mazer in his two hands. ‘If they are guilty of wishing Henry Potell and Friar Nicholas dead, they will hardly tell you. And most of them in any case would declare themselves wholeheartedly behind the Bishop, will they not? How could they admit they were once willing to stand against a Bishop and hope that the present incumbent would not come to hear of it?’

‘We are a different — ah — Chapter now, Sir Peregrine,’ the Dean smiled. ‘Such things do not concern us any more. No, we prefer to see disputes openly aired and discussed. The old ways of bottling up arguments and then causing friction are gone for ever. We will not see them return.’

Sir Peregrine felt the Dean’s eyes upon him and nodded graciously. ‘I am glad to hear it, Dean. We’ll speak to the Treasurer. While we wait, would it be possible for you to ask that the man who dropped the rock on the mason’s head be called here? I should like to speak to this clumsy fellow.’

‘Why? It was an accident. Many saw what happened.’

‘I’m glad it wasn’t another murder! In any case, I have to assess the deodand and ensure that it was not in truth a deliberate killing.’

The Dean was about to speak when he shrugged and called for his steward.

‘The poor fellow will probably be in a tavern somewhere at this time of day,’ he said when the servant had rushed from the room. ‘He will likely be very tired, so please do not be too hard on him.’

‘I shall try not to delay the building schedule, Dean,’ Sir Peregrine said.

They chatted of other matters while they waited for the steward to return, but when he did, alone, Sir Peregrine was not unduly surprised. As the Dean had said, the man was probably drinking off a tiring day in the nearest tavern. ‘He’s left for the night?’

‘Dean, I am afraid Thomas has fled,’ the steward told him. ‘The Master Mason tells me that all his tools are gone too.’

Baldwin shot a bitter look at Simon. ‘We should have questioned him more closely!’

‘I commanded that he should be watched,’ the Dean said with a frigid calmness.

‘The guards say that he looked as though he was going to escape through the Fissand Gate, but he saw them and ran back towards his hut. They thought he’d changed his mind. He didn’t leave by another gate. They asked.’

The Coroner leaped to his feet. ‘Show me this man’s room!’ he snapped to the steward and hurried from the room with him. Simon and Baldwin gave their thanks to the Dean, and followed him.

‘So, Sir Baldwin,’ the Coroner called over his shoulder as he threw open the door to the Close. ‘It seems our killer might have been in the Cathedral after all! Even if he was only a mason, he would be able to kill with ease inside the precinct. And now he is trying to escape the city, since he knows we are on his trail.’

Peter, the acting Prior at St Nicholas, was sitting at his desk in his hall at the Priory when the rough knocking on his door woke him from a reverie.

Sitting here, he had suddenly imagined what it would be like to actually be recognised as Prior. If only he could take that position, and with it enjoy the power and influence it brought, he could work through to the end of his days with satisfaction. He would have achieved something quite fine. It would be enough to satisfy him.

The post was not all-powerful, but with an accommodating and compliant Abbot at Battle, and he and the new Abbot had always been reasonably close, there was every possibility that he might be able to wield a free hand. That would certainly be his hope. And then, what a life he would have! To be master of a Priory like this in a major city was to be the ruler of a small, self-contained principality. He would have complete control.

Yet the investigation into that idiot saddler’s death was enough to bring the matter of Chaunter de Lecchelade back to everyone’s minds, and then he’d be without a chance yet again. There was no possibility of his being able to survive the renewal of interest in all that. He’d be ruined.

He had just reached this conclusion when the knock came, and it explained his harshness of voice and manner as he recognised his corrodian. ‘What is it, William?’

‘That’s no way to welcome an honoured guest in your Priory, is it?’

Peter eyed him like a King watching a poisoner in his kitchens. ‘You may be honoured by others, but to me you are only a man I used to know, who made his way in the world by dishonesty.’

‘Not dishonesty … just judicious use of the truth,’ William said. ‘But you and I need to talk.’

‘Those two have rattled you?’

‘They know more than I’d have guessed,’ William nodded. ‘They know about all of us. I suppose Joel told them. It means we’re in trouble. It’s likely to get out, unless we can shut them up somehow.’

‘And how would you propose to do that?’ Peter asked. ‘Perhaps quieten everything by slaughtering the pair of them? That would certainly stop all investigations in their tracks.’

‘Yes, it might,’ William smiled.

Peter was about to snap at him when he realised that William was being honest. Speaking carefully, he said, ‘I do not think that their deaths would succeed in stopping all debate. In fact, I feel that it might lead people to associate these recent deaths with that of de Lecchelade.’

‘It may be a risk worth taking. Whoever comes afterwards to look into things will be likely to find an easier target than us. He could be more easily manipulated than these two.’

‘You didn’t think that you could persuade the Keeper and Bailiff to leave the matter?’

‘No. They’re committed to finding a killer.’

‘Which means you’ll not be able to remain here. Not if it becomes known that you helped kill de Lecchelade and then benefited from his death by throwing the blame onto de Porta and the gate-keeper of the South Gate. That wouldn’t reflect well on you, would it?’

William looked at him but now the smile was wiped from his face like chalk from a board. ‘It would not reflect well on a Prior either, if it came to be widely known that he was a convicted murderer.’