Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

Peter looked at him and his upper lip lifted just slightly, enough to expose a tooth. It looked like an expression of deep and sincere contempt. ‘I have nothing to say on the matter. And now you must leave.’

‘I’m going nowhere, Prior. You may not like me or my tone, but that’s not my concern!’ Simon spat. His head felt light from lack of sleep, and just now his temper was close to boiling over. ‘My best friend and companion was almost killed last night by an arrow. He may be dead now for all I know, and I want the murderer found before anyone else is harmed.’

‘Your friend?’ Peter said, his face suddenly still, as though he was thinking very quickly indeed. ‘Why should that be?’

‘I do not know, unless Baldwin’s questions were bringing him close to the identity of the murderer. If that’s the case, the killer should beware, because I intend to bring him to justice — and for trying to murder a knight, that will be a rope! I’ll take pleasure in pulling it tight round his neck myself!’

‘What do you expect from me?’

‘Your help, and that means telling me what happened on the night that the Chaunter was murdered.’

Peter stared at him, and then gazed up at the sky for a long while, before giving a low sigh and clearing his throat. ‘Very well.’

He told them all about the dissension in the Cathedral’s Chapter. It was much the same as the story which all the others had told. ‘It was simple, really. A fight between those who knew the city and had lived here all their lives. I was born here, only a short distance up from the main gates by which you entered this morning. I used to play ball in the street, bouncing a pig’s bladder against the wall of this Priory. Sometimes we’d play football against the next parish, seeing which could take the ball into the opposing team’s churchyard. It was hard work.’

Thomas nodded with a grin. ‘I remember that. You used to gang up on my friends. We were in the parish of the Holy Trinity, while you were in St John’s.’

‘Yes. We used to play on festive days. Your parish, Matt in St Mary Major, Joel in St Mary Arches. And my team always used to win.’ Peter smiled at the memory. ‘We could be quite competitive. Especially Matt and William, as I remember it.’

‘They were competitive about everything. The only time that I felt at risk of my life was when Matthew and William were betting on their target-shooting at the butts. Matt was winning as usual, and then I took a bow and fired one that beat them both! I thought they’d lynch me. William was furious,’ Thomas recalled.

‘What of Henry Potell? Was he there too?’ Simon asked.

‘Henry was born in St Kerrian’s, as was poor Vincent.’

‘He was the man killed when he tried to warn the Chaunter against the attack?’

‘Yes. Some thought him a traitor, but he was honourable. He had given his word, and he lived in the Chaunter’s house. That was the trouble, you see. When the Bishop arrived he upset a lot of people. He didn’t understand how we’d grown up in the alleys and streets, forming our own relationships. It was as though he was deliberately pitting all those who were from the city against the newcomers. I can recall us all arguing about it in a tavern, some of us wanting to support the new Bishop and give him the benefit of the doubt, while others were determined to oppose him and force him to see reason.’

‘What of the friar?’

‘Aye, well, Friar Nicholas always argued for supporting him. He was a foreigner too, you see, and reckoned that the Bishop was always right.’

‘But I thought you paid him to spread the story that the Chaunter needn’t fear any attack?’ Simon blurted out. He was suddenly aware of an appalling lassitude. The foundation of discovering the murderer was the fact that the prior had paid the traitor. If Nicholas wasn’t the traitor, then what could be the reason for his death?

‘Nick wouldn’t have considered betrayal,’ Peter said with conviction. ‘No, it was another.’

‘Who?’ Simon demanded, but with less force. In truth, he was very tired now. ‘It has been said that you were the man who paid a man to pass on the lie to the Chaunter that led him to believe that he was safe.’

Peter shrugged. ‘It wasn’t me,’ he said. ‘The man who paid was more deeply involved than me. I was only there because I sought advancement. I thought that if I was to help John Pycot get what he wanted, he’d see to it that I was well-rewarded. More fool me!’

Simon grunted at this sign of his self-contempt. ‘You didn’t get much from it, did you?’

‘At least I am now the prior of this place, if only for a while.’

‘Tell me about the attack again,’ Simon said.

There was little to learn from him. The prior’s story merely confirmed all that Simon and Baldwin had already heard, and Simon could discern nothing in it which rang false against all the other testimonies he had been given.

‘I am still fascinated by the idea of the man who arranged for treachery. Who could have planted the lie so closely to the Chaunter? If a man were to behave so dishonourably, wouldn’t he feel the guilt afterwards? Surely his crime would be obvious.’

‘There are some who feel no such compunction,’ Peter said. ‘Look at my corrodian, William. He is a man of great resolve and determination, but if he finds another in his way, he will destroy the man. You have heard of his denunciation of the Mayor?’

Simon could feel Thomas suddenly stiffen, and Simon glanced at him as he said, ‘What do you mean?’

‘The Mayor was hanged because the King learned that the South Gate had been left open for the assassins to depart the city after their deed. While we of the Cathedral Close went to our beds and hid, the others fled the city through that gate. The watch was not efficient, and there was no means to check on who was in the city that night and who was not, so all escaped. Well, since that gate was left open, the first two people whom the King ordered to be executed were, of course, the gatekeeper and the Mayor. The city was complicit in the act, the King declared, so the representative of the city must pay. It was William who told the King of the gate being left open, so it is he who bears the guilt of the Mayor’s death, yet you will see no shame in his eyes.’

‘Why did he do that?’ Thomas demanded.

‘Because he sought advancement,’ Peter said sarcastically. ‘If a couple of deaths would lead to his being taken into the King’s host, it was a trade worth his while. That was how he reasoned, and he was proved correct. He has lived to a good age in the King’s service and now he can expect a long retirement.’

‘All from a pair of executions so long ago,’ Thomas said bitterly.

‘I am sorry, Tom,’ Peter said more kindly. ‘I forgot the gatekeeper was your father.’

‘Where is William?’ Thomas said. ‘I want to see him.’

‘He left the Priory this morning quite early,’ Peter said. ‘I don’t know where he’s gone.’

William had, in fact, spent much of the morning in the Frauncey’s Inn over near the East Gate. When the sun rose, he went out from the Priory with a desire to find a good pint of wine and drink it as quickly as possible. In a city like Exeter, with over thirty inns and taverns, that was no difficult task, and he had eschewed the first three he had come across on the basis that he had been to all of them before only recently. Today he wanted anonymity.

It was clear enough that Peter was not going to help save them. Someone was out there with a grudge against William and probably Peter too, and he could probably harm William, but Peter didn’t seem to care, the bastard. He could rot in hell for all William cared now. The Prior just didn’t understand how worried William was that his corrody could be endangered by the stories of his behaviour during the assault on the Chaunter. It meant everything to William! If it was bruited abroad that he had been in on the attack, the King could remove his corrody and leave him destitute. Entirely without a penny. What could a man do when he was faced with that kind of stern reality? There was only one route — become an outlaw and steal what was needed for survival.