Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

Vincent was killed by the Cathedral. He had been destroyed because he was loyal to his master, and had tried to save him. A traitor cut him down. His wife had died because of the Cathedral, run down by a young fool of a clerk playing silly devils on a horse. The Cathedral had taken the two most precious people in his life.

There was no surprise in hearing from his son that Vincent was innocent of the accusation. Wymond had always known it. Yet the Cathedral had spread the news of his guilt as though it was established fact. Everyone knew that those raised in the city were against the Bishop, and that was enough to damn Vincent in their eyes. To many it seemed as though he was a hero, having stood up for his city, but Wymond knew that he was innocent. No, Vincent would never have betrayed his master. He had given his word to the Chaunter, and he would have guarded him with his life. As, indeed, he did.

Wymond fell asleep late into the night, struck with a strange melancholia.

It was long after dawn the next morning that he rose and stretched. He threw some water over his face from the river, dried it on his sleeve, and then picked up his package and bent his way towards the island. When he was close to the Friary he stopped, hesitated, and then carried on towards the city itself. He would go to the market and buy some bread.

Jeanne studied the wound. It looked like a tiny mouth with bright red lips. Now that the arrow was gone, it was smaller than the arrow’s diameter as the flesh closed together. So small, it was hard to believe that it could do so much harm.

Simon peered closer. It was early days, but the wound didn’t appear to have become too inflamed as yet. He prayed that Baldwin might survive.

Paul backed towards the door, his eyes fixed on Edgar’s bright sword.

Watching him, Simon suddenly frowned. ‘Have you seen the Coroner recently, Paul?’

The Annuellar shook his head quickly. ‘Not today, sir, no. I think he went into the town.’

‘What of the inquests? Has he said when he will hold them?’

‘He has ordered the bodies of the friar and the mason to be disinterred so he can examine them. I think he means to hold all three inquests at the same time, and he has still to view all the bodies from the crush in the street outside St Nicholas’s Priory.’

‘I had forgotten all that,’ Simon breathed. So many deaths in such a short time. The city was filled with distraught people. Everybody must know someone who had died recently. Yet there was nothing new in that. People died all the time, whether from brawls or illnesses or accidents. There was always somebody who was mourning for a child or parent or lover.

And there was one man who was perhaps mourning for people who had died here many years ago. Who could be so angry and bitter that he still sought to avenge that murder?

With that thought he was about to speak to Thomas when there was a noise in the gateway outside: the tramp of heavy boots and an angry voice shouting, ‘Get your hands off me, you fornicating son of a diseased whore! What are you, you piece of shite! Brave when I’m bound, aren’t you, but wait until I get a chance to pull a dagger on you, man, and we’ll see how fucking brave you are then, eh?’

Simon glanced at Edgar, puzzled, but then he saw Thomas grit his teeth and suddenly recognised that furious voice. It was William again. Making a quick decision, Simon pulled the door open and walked outside. Thomas was immediately at his back, and Simon heard Baldwin’s weak voice demanding to be able to hear what was going on. Edgar chuckled, and when Simon shot a look behind him, he saw the servant standing at the side of the doorway, his sword in his fist, the blade held at the ready across his body. No one would get past him to enter the room.

‘Oho, Bailiff!’ laughed Sir Peregrine. He was at William’s side, holding onto a thong which bound the man’s wrists. ‘Here’s a fine man. He tells me he is the King’s corrodian, yet I found him attacking a poor merchant in his fiancée’s house. A strange way to behave, wouldn’t you say?’

From where he stood, Simon could smell the sour wine on William’s breath. ‘I wished to ask this man a couple of questions.’

‘Please do so. I was about to take him to the city’s gaol, but he claimed benefit of clergy since he’s a corrodian, and I am on my way to ask the Dean what he thinks I should do with him. It cannot hurt to have him lodged here, I suppose — but I should prefer to see him in the city’s custody if there is to be a fine laid upon him!’

Simon was uninterested in Peregrine’s legal ramblings. ‘William. You told us how you took part in the murder of the Chaunter all those years ago. You also implicated two innocent men, didn’t you? You told the King that the gate had been left open, knowing that he would hang those responsible, and knowing that he’d reward you for your information.’

‘If you know so much, what do you want from me?’ William snapped. ‘Get these damned thongs from me, you bladder of pus! Release me, I’m the King’s man. Don’t dare to hold me! Bailiff, release me. I won’t stand here like a common felon.’

‘You are worse than a common felon!’ Simon roared. He shoved William, almost pushing him over. ‘You lied to the King in his court, and committed perjury, didn’t you? You denied taking part in the murder itself.’

‘Why should I confess to something like that? Who says I was there?’

‘I do,’ Thomas said. ‘I was there, and I accuse you, William. You were guilty. You stabbed the Chaunter’s vicar as he lay on the ground, and you stabbed the Chaunter himself. I saw you. I accuse you of murder. You beat Matthew, too, and-’

‘Wait!’ Simon blurted. ‘Matthew? You hit him? Why not kill him?’

‘I deny this! It is all false! Release me!’

Thomas shook his head. ‘We grew up together. I doubt he wanted to kill an old companion.’

‘Sweet Jesus!’ Simon moaned. ‘That was it, wasn’t it? Matthew was another like you, William. That whole dispute was between people from the city and people who were foreigners, wasn’t it? The new Bishop, Quivil, was a stranger, and men like you supported the Dean, John Pycot, against him. All those who sought to support the Chaunter were from outside the city, weren’t they? And there was one man in his familia who was from inside the city: Matthew. I’ve heard from the Prior Peter that he used to play ball with you and him. Matthew was a city man, so of course he wouldn’t support the Chaunter or the Bishop.’

‘Why don’t you ask him?’ William sneered.

‘It was him, wasn’t it, William? Matthew lied to the Chaunter and made him feel safe. Matthew wasn’t an ally of the Chaunter. His loyalty was first to Exeter, second to the Cathedral.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ William blustered.

‘Matthew was no hero that day, was he?’ Simon pressed. ‘He lied to his master, deliberately, in order to persuade him to go out into the Close to his death.’

‘Maybe he did, but that’s got nothing to do with me,’ William said.

‘Except someone must have got Matthew to tell the lie.’

Peregrine was looking at Simon with the expression of one who is unsure what he is hearing. ‘What lie was that, Simon?’

‘This man told Matthew to take part in an attack on the Cathedral’s Chaunter; he was to forewarn the Chaunter of the attack, but then lie, telling him that the Bishop himself knew of it and would position guards to protect him. The story was, they wanted to catch the assailants red-handed so that they could be tried for the attempt at murder. It was a good story, too, one which made sense — and it was invented by this man here, this shrewd fellow William. Afterwards, he also invented a story about the Southern Gate being left wide open, and caused the Mayor and the porter of the Southern Gate to be executed, solely that William could earn favour in the eyes of the King. And since then, he’s been a contented member of the King’s household.’