Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

‘In what way?’ Simon asked, torn by a desire to demand answers from Prior Peter and remain here and learn all he could from a man who knew the friar in case his words could hold some bearing.

‘Friar Nicholas was terribly cut about. A man had slashed at him and his wounds were dreadful. His face was only a part of his injuries. His back was deeply scarred, his arm withered and all but useless … It was a miracle that he lived.’

‘You think that God was kind to him?’ Thomas asked sarcastically.

‘Who can tell what He thinks of men such as Nicholas?’ Ralph said, standing back and surveying his handiwork before pulling the blankets over Baldwin’s torso. He turned and looked at Thomas. ‘I was talking to the man who used to know him, Vicar Matthew, and he said that the friar’s features would be enough to make many a man confess his sins just to avoid the same form of punishment.’

‘What sort of crime was the friar supposed to have committed?’ Simon enquired.

‘From what I heard, he had supported an evil man in the Cathedral.’

‘That bears out what I thought,’ Simon muttered, and then, ‘Come along, Thomas. We must see the Prior and hear what he has to say for himself.’

Udo was finishing his preparations. A last glance in the big mirror in his hall, a dab of holy water to wish himself luck (a silly thing to do, for God would either bless his union or not), and then he left his house.

The distance was nothing. He strolled up the hill, turned left, then went up Milk Street and thence into Smythen Street, where he continued down the hill.

From here the view was magnificent. Ahead of him lay the river, shimmering silver in the sunlight through the smoke of the works on Exe Island, but beyond all was green. The land rolled most pleasantly, with low hills covered in trees all the way westward. Today, with the rains finished, he could see that there were many pools. They shone blue and grey, while the river itself was more torrential than he had seen before. Full from the rains, it raced past the city as though in an urgent hurry to get to the sea.

He stood enjoying the scene for a long while. It reminded him a little of his homeland, and that raised a small sensation of longing. As he set off again, he was reminded that it was many years since he last saw his home. Now, were he ever to see it again, he would see it as a married man.

At the door, he rapped loudly and stood waiting. The door opened and the maidservant showed him through to the women in the hall. He bowed and went to Mabilla first, although his eyes never left Julia.

She was as fresh as a flower in spring, he thought. Her skin was almost white, and it was so fine that he swore he could see the blood coursing at her temples and throat. She was dressed in a sombre dress with a girdle, her hair bound up in a net, and her eyes remained downcast, but for him that very correct modesty was itself wonderfully attractive. He could hardly believe that this marvellous creature was soon to be his!

‘Sir, you are welcome in our house,’ Mabilla said as he walked to the stoup and made the sign of the cross with the holy water.

‘Mistress, I thank you. How is your daughter?’

Julia raised her chin, while keeping her eyes on the ground. ‘I am well, sir.’ She felt the fluttering of her heart like a caged bird, and desperately fought the blush that threatened to colour her face. ‘I hope you are well too?’

This was not like other courtships she had witnessed. All too often, they were conducted without any involvement by the bride-to-be, but instead all aspects of the negotiation and contract went on in her absence until all was ready, and then she was presented with the agreement. Enough of her friends had become wedded for her to know that commonly the groom would be a man considerably older than his wife. Only last month two of her friends had been married, and both took men more than ten years their senior. An older husband was normal enough, because only when a man had finished his apprenticeship and acquired his own shop and business, could he start to think of the other necessaries of life. And a woman who preferred not to be a spinster or be forced into servitude would be glad to take a man with a profitable living.

No, Julia had no concerns about this man. He was a little pompous, it was true, but a good woman like her would soon be able to smooth off some of the roughness. And she would make him a good wife; she was determined of that. He was kind enough to take her and her mother, and right now she had a feeling of warmth and safety in his presence that was entirely lacking when he was gone.

Her only fear was that he wanted her purely as a prize; a trophy to ornament his arm when he walked abroad or invited guests to his home. She had heard of loveless marriages where the wives were bored and listless. They had little communion with their families or friends because their husbands were jealous of their companionship, or perhaps feared that they might speak to others in a derogatory manner of their lives. These were the sort of men she feared. If Udo were to become like that, she didn’t know how she would survive. By merely thanking God that he would not live for too long, and when he died, he would leave her a wealthy widow, she supposed. It was a grim prospect, and one that scared her. But she had no choice.

‘You are thoughtful, my dear?’ he asked.

She could have sworn at herself for allowing her thoughts to become so visible. Colouring slightly, she said, ‘I was thinking of my poor father. He would have been so pleased to see me wedded to so successful a merchant. But he will be watching over us, I am sure.’

‘Yes,’ he said, with a slight clearing of his throat. He appeared nervous for a moment.

‘I do miss him,’ she said.

Mabilla sniffed slightly and Julia saw her turn a little away. ‘He would be very proud. I know that he was keen to have a respectable man for his only child, and he must have been as delighted as I am, Master Udo.’

‘I thank you,’ Udo said with a slight bow. ‘And now, perhaps I should offer this? With your permission, Mistress?’

Julia saw her mother give a nod, for Mabilla was as thrilled to see what the man had brought as was Julia herself. Udo stood and approached her with a small leather purse. He weighed it in his hand with an anxious expression.

‘My dearest, I have bought this for you, thinking that it would enhance your beauty, but now … I cannot but think that you are too perfect with nothing. I … I hope it is proof of my sincere devotion to you, and that you will look on me forever as a kind husband and master, who seeks only to make you happy. In all that I can do, I will seek your pleasure. I … Well, here it is.’

He suddenly thrust it out towards her and she took it. The purse itself was pretty enough, with small embroidery about the outside, but it was quite heavy, and she looked up at him with some doubt, wondering whether she should open it. He nodded encouragement, and she released the thongs at the neck.

From it spilled a necklace of gold, with a pendant that formed a cross.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked, and now the anxiety was all too plain.

‘I love it!’ she whispered, and smiled at him with tears of gratitude in her eyes.

The Priory’s gatekeeper was reluctant to allow them entry, even when Simon used the name of the Bishop as his authority, but before too long the prior himself had arrived and he haughtily deigned to allow Simon and Thomas into the Priory’s lands.

‘What do you want from me?’ Peter demanded.

‘I have heard that you were one of the men involved in the murder of the Chaunter many years ago. There have been two murders since then, of Henry Potell and a Friar Nicholas. Both were implicated in the original plot with you, I understand.’