Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

‘All know of me, William. I submitted to the Church’s justice and was exiled for many years.’

‘Aye. And now you’re back and want this Priory all to yourself, don’t you?’

Peter made a dismissive gesture. ‘I will never have it. That much is clear, and I have grown accustomed to the end of my ambitions. Nay, I shall remain here as a monk and pass on the power to my replacement and successor.’

‘I won’t leave! Not without a good fight first,’ William swore.

‘What do you mean?’ Peter demanded. ‘I won’t have you committing bloodshed, Will. You are a corrodian now, man. You must not bring the name of this place into disrepute.’

‘Oh, I won’t let anyone know it’s anything to do with the Priory, don’t you worry, Peter,’ William said. ‘But I won’t stand by and see my place here put at risk by these damned inquisitive fools. No one will take my pension from me!’

Simon reminded himself of the strange coincidence of the man’s name and age, and wondered if it was in fact a mere quirk of fate. The mason had been surly and suspicious when they spoke to him. To learn that he had been responsible for another death, although it was apparently an accident, was still more curious. One coincidence was possible, but adding together the facts that a man like him had been involved with Joel and Henry all those years before, that he had been in the area when the friar had been murdered, and had even been seen talking to him, and the fact that he sounded like an Exonian even though he denied it, all added up to a suspicious chain of evidence, especially now that he had apparently fled the city.

‘Did anyone see him go?’ he asked when he reached Sir Peregrine and the steward at a small shack in the workmen’s little shanty town.

The steward shook his head. He was a small, birdlike man with very bright brown eyes. ‘No. The guard sent to stop him didn’t see him go. About here, all those I’ve asked said they thought he was still here, but no one’s seen him since mid-afternoon.’

The room in which he had lived was a rude hovel knocked up by a carpenter with little time for fripperies. It had plain beech walls that once had been lime-washed, a rough shingle roof of chestnut, and little by way of decoration. One stool, without even a table to sit at, and a wooden bench on which to lay his palliasse were the sole concessions to a man’s comfort. It was a sad, bare little chamber.

‘Nothing here at all,’ Simon noted. ‘He’s clearly run.’

‘And the gates are closed now,’ Sir Peregrine commented. ‘We should set off after him instantly … but it may be better to wait until morning.’

‘Far better,’ Baldwin said. ‘But it would be worthwhile to send to all the gates to ask whether a man answering his description has actually left the city today. Could you arrange for that, Steward?’

‘Of course.’

‘In the meantime, perhaps we should go and take our rest,’ Baldwin said. ‘We shall be awake early.’

Sir Peregrine smiled coldly at that. ‘I shall walk to the inn with you, Sir Baldwin. I am sure that we have much to discuss.’

Baldwin demurred, pointing out that Sir Peregrine had already been forced to ride a great distance that day, and suggested that they should all go to Sir Peregrine’s inn. Accordingly they left his address with the steward for any messages from the gates, and then made their way to the Blue Boar, where Sir Peregrine was staying.

In the low parlour at the middle of the inn, Sir Peregrine sat and motioned politely for the others to do likewise. ‘We have had our disputes in the past, but I am sure we can help each other now.’

‘I am interested to know how the Lord de Courtenay could release you from his side. Surely he relies on your advice, Sir Peregrine,’ Baldwin said disingenuously.

Sir Peregrine looked at him long and hard. ‘My Lord de Courtenay feels that other advisors could be more suitable for the present climate.’

‘Since the Despensers are now supreme?’

‘Precisely,’ Sir Peregrine said bitterly. ‘He feels that the Despensers are likely to be in power for some years, and he would prefer to keep his head on his shoulders for the time being, rather than risk having them parted by the executioner’s sword.’

‘I heard that Earl Thomas was hanged like a common felon,’ Baldwin noted.

‘A shocking punishment,’ Sir Peregrine nodded. He added drily, ‘And it led my Lord to decide that the advice of his most loyal advisor might be suspected as biasing him against the King, so that advisor must leave his household. I was told to go.’

‘Although you still owe him your fealty?’

‘Of course. That was to death. Still, I was forced to seek a new employment, and when I heard that this post was available, I thought that it must at least keep me occupied.’

Simon could understand that. A knight had many calls on his time, what with managing his lands, protecting his serfs and, most of all, seeking to serve his master. If his master did not want him at his side any more, that reduced his workload considerably. Since Sir Peregrine, he recalled, had no wife and had lost his only lover some years before, he was plainly at a loose end. Finding a job like that of Coroner would be a relief to a man with an active mind; as well as being lucrative to a fellow who was corrupt, he added to himself, glancing at the Coroner. Fortunately he was sure that Sir Peregrine was not that kind of man. The bannaret was honourable.

‘Does that mean you will no longer seek to persuade people to take a stand on one side or another?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I have no interest in doing so. In fact, I have been commanded not to do so by Lord de Courtenay,’ Sir Peregrine smiled.

‘In which case, let us discuss this strange series of murders,’ Baldwin said more happily. ‘Was there anything about Henry Saddler’s body which struck you?’

‘It was more a case of what didn’t strike me,’ Sir Peregrine said.

‘Oh? In what way?’

‘His hands weren’t bound, his head and face unmarked so far as I could see, and there was only the one blow. It showed that he trusted his attacker enough to turn his back on him, and that he was not captured and later killed, but simply taken, or jumped on, when he was unawares. That means it’s less likely a planned killing, more probably a spur of the moment attack.’

‘Perhaps. Unless someone sent a message — for example, inviting him to meet a third person in there, and only when he entered did he realise someone was already there — concealed behind the door, perhaps? — who leaped upon him as soon as it was shut?’

‘Possibly. This man Thomas could have been there on the scaffold, seen Henry enter the Close, followed after him until he entered the chapel, and then taken advantage of the situation and killed him.’

‘It seems like too much of a coincidence. Why should Henry have gone into the chapel in the first place?’

‘Thomas could have sent a message asking Henry to meet a man there. Perhaps he sent it in the name of William, since they knew each other.’

‘But why,’ Simon interrupted, ‘should he go to the chapel? Surely Henry would be unlikely to trust a man like William at the best of times, and entering a quiet charnel with a man you don’t trust would be folly.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘But it could have been a message in the name of someone whom Henry would have trusted. We can check later. As a hypothesis it works — Thomas invented a message, sent it, waited on his scaffold from where he could see all the entrances to the Close, and then, when Henry entered the Close, Thomas descended and either walked inside first, or hung about until Henry was inside. Then Thomas walked in, killed him and left again, went straight back to his ladder and got on with his work. The others there might not even have noticed his departure.’