Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

Simon felt Baldwin’s hands lose their fierce grip, and then the wounded man sank into a merciful faint.

Baldwin was installed in Janekyn’s bed, while the porter was removed to a room nearby to sleep on a bench. The Dean, who had come to see how things were going, tried to conceal a yawn.

‘My dear Bailiff, do — ah — forgive me. You must be a great deal more tired than I am,’ he said. ‘I shall order that another bed be brought in here for you.’

‘No, thank you,’ Simon said. He was turning the bodkin over and over in his hands, frowning. Some blood still adhered to it, and his hands were growing stained, but he didn’t care. ‘If I sleep, the attacker may come back for another attempt.’

‘You don’t think that this was launched by a member of the community here?’ the Dean asked.

‘I don’t know, but it’s certainly possible, and I won’t risk his life,’ Simon said. ‘The assassin could have been a foreigner who fled by the Bear Gate or the Palace Gate, but he may equally well be hiding here in the Cathedral’s Close somewhere, and I won’t take any chances that he won’t try to murder Baldwin in his bed.’

‘I see.’

‘I was wondering where the arrow could have been launched from,’ Simon said. He walked to the door. From there he could see where he and Baldwin had hurled themselves to the ground. Behind them at that moment had been the Charnel Chapel, with the black mass of the Cathedral beyond. ‘It must have been either from the chapel or the Cathedral itself.’

He stared out. From here, the chapel blocked the whole of the Cathedral’s front. When they had been out in the Close, a bowman on the Cathedral’s walls would surely not have been able to see them — which meant the shot must have come from the chapel.

Simon was in two minds. He wanted to go to the chapel at once to test whether his theory was correct and the assassin had fired from there, but he knew that he would be better served to wait until daylight. Also, he feared leaving Baldwin in case he should need Simon — either because he had suffered a collapse, or because a killer tried again to dispatch him.

‘Dean, I shall remain here all night to protect Baldwin. Could you arrange for a pair of men whom you trust to come and help me? Not so slipshod as the three told to keep an eye on Thomas, either. I shall also want to send a messenger as soon as possible to Baldwin’s wife, to let her know about this attack.’

‘Naturally,’ the Dean said. He glanced back at Baldwin’s figure. ‘Bailiff, I cannot tell you how sorry I am, that this dreadful attack should have happened within my Close.’

‘Dean, I am sure that Baldwin wouldn’t blame you for one rogue, and I won’t either.’

‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

‘I should like a large flask of wine, and first thing in the morning, please arrange for Thomas to be brought to me from the cells.’

‘Are you sure he is safe?’

‘I think the idea that there could be two murderers running about the Close is far-fetched,’ Simon said. ‘Someone tried to kill Baldwin after Thomas was installed in the gaol, and that means it’s unlikely he is the guilty party. Yes, I am happy to vouch for his safety.’

But who, he wondered as he again stared about him at the darkened Close, who will vouch for mine?

The night was a long and uncomfortable one for Simon. The Dean had been as good as his word, and sent two lay members of the Cathedral staff to stand at Baldwin’s side; they were strong-looking young men, both armed with swords and knives, one with a club as well, and they exuded a general attitude of competence.

‘You get some sleep, Bailiff. I can watch over him for you,’ said one, whose name apparently was David.

Simon took a seat on a stool, but wouldn’t sleep. He kept an eye on Baldwin, but most of the time he spent staring towards the doorway, wondering whether there would be another attack or not. It was hard to see how someone could hope to get past three men to kill Baldwin, but that was the least of his worries. What Simon wanted to know was, why should someone have decided to attack him in the first place? Was it because by some accident, Simon and Baldwin had come close to the truth of the matter?

And yet the bowman had only aimed at one of them — he had not fired a second arrow at Simon. Why not? Was it something Baldwin had learned which implicated the murderer, or was it simply that Baldwin’s behaviour had upset the guilty man? Simon felt the possibilities flying about in his head all through the night, but when the first light started to brighten the cracks in the shutters at the windows, he was no nearer an answer.

But the answer itself could be damned. Just now Simon was aware of nothing but an overwhelming anger: he would find the would-be assassin, and make him pay. Simon vowed there and then to destroy the man who had made an attempt on Baldwin’s life.

He looked at his old friend. The knight lay breathing stertorously, a deathly pallor on his gaunt cheeks. Simon prayed that the wound healed cleanly, and did not become infected. The next few hours were crucial …

As the night wore on, Simon found his mind wandering. He recalled how he had first met Baldwin in the torchlit hall at Bickleigh Castle, how Baldwin’s face had shown such grim despair, and how over the last seven years that weary grief had eroded under the happy influence of his wife, the former Jeanne de Liddinstone. Recently he had seen how Baldwin’s problems with Jeanne had caused him a renewed pain, and Simon was scared just now that Baldwin might not last the night and see her again. It made him grip Baldwin’s hand and wring it, trying to force his friend to hold on, if only for as long as it would take Jeanne to arrive.

No messenger could leave until the city opened its gates, which would mean that she wouldn’t know of this misfortune until the middle of the morning at the earliest. If she were to mount her own horse, she might, just possibly, be at Exeter at noon, but a little after that was more likely.

Simon could have marched to the gaol and demanded Thomas immediately. He could have started to learn all the mason knew, but to do so he would have to leave Baldwin with strangers to guard him, and that was not going to happen. Far better that he should wait until dawn. In daylight he would feel safer. All the murders so far had happened in the dark; during the day there were always too many people wandering about the Cathedral and in the Close for someone to be able to commit a crime of that nature with any hope of escape.

At full light, a man knocked at the door. It was the messenger who was to go to Jeanne, and Simon thought quickly. ‘Just tell her that Baldwin has been injured, that he is not dead, but sorely wounded, and that he loves her.’ He considered for a moment. A message like that would be sure to worry her … well, there was not much he could do about that. He didn’t want to worry her, but she needed to be aware that Baldwin was badly wounded. She should make the journey to Exeter to sit with him. Her presence would be a comfort to her husband. In the meantime, Simon wanted Baldwin’s last words to be taken to her as well. They might prove to be soothing.

Soon after the messenger had hurried outside and clambered aboard his horse, a fierce-looking beast with hooves the size of small barrel-bottoms, and hurtled off through Fissand Gate towards the West Gate of the city, Simon found himself confronted with a canon who carried a tray.

‘Bailiff. I was so sorry to hear of Sir Baldwin’s attack last night,’ Treasurer Stephen said. ‘I trust that a little food would help to support him? Please give him these dowcettes to improve his strength, and send him my best wishes.’