Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

Udo lay back in his bed with a groan. His arm was exceptionally painful and his face was one massive bruise, while he could hardly breathe from his nose since its breakage by that madman William.

There were always some who were simply mad, no matter what the city or the environment. Udo had known some men in the highest courts in Europe who were absolutely insane; men who would whip off a man’s head as soon as look at him. Yes, but they generally tried to behave within their own rules of courtesy. The trouble with a man like this William was that he was too lowly. He had no conception of the ways of his betters. That was why he ranted drunkenly before hitting Udo.

‘My darling, are you all right?’ Julia asked.

Udo grunted a response. If there was one benefit from all this, it was that Julia and he had grown very close. She had seen how he had leaped in to risk his own life and limb to defend her and her mother, and if she had held any secret doubts about their marriage, that act had immediately removed them. She adored him, and Udo had to admit, having experienced her devoted nursing for this past week, that she would be an ideal companion.

He looked at her now. She was sitting at his side, an expression of sweet kindness on her face, and he thought she could easily be the Madonna. Yes, he would be delighted to be married to her, and he would do so as soon as possible. For a while, perhaps only a little while, they would be man and wife, and when Udo died, she would have a goodly sum of money to protect her widowhood until she found another man to look after her.

It was good. She was lovely. He was enormously attracted to her. Her beauty would warm his heart, and he could adore her as he went about his business. Then in the evenings he could speak with her and instruct her in the ways of polite company. After all, taking on a child like her was rather like becoming a second father to her. It was a stern responsibility.

Except just now, he felt nothing remotely like responsibility. If he was honest, there was only one emotion uppermost in his mind: he loved her.

‘I do not think that you should be walking about so soon,’ Jeanne said as she helped Baldwin into a heavy cotte.

He winced as his arm was thrust into the sleeve. ‘Damn this wound! It quite drains a man to have a hole in breast and back. I could return to bed and sleep for another week!’

‘I don’t think you should do that, Sir Baldwin.’

‘I didn’t ask you , Physician! You took so damned long to come and see me when I needed you, I see no reason to listen to you now,’ Baldwin growled at Ralph.

Ralph smiled cynically.

It was one of the first things Baldwin had decided he disliked about this fellow: the complete lack of obsequiousness. At least most physicians had the decency to try to appear as though they cared a little for their patients, but not Ralph. He had one ambition, and that was to make as much money as possible.

Now he gave a little sniff, as though he was disapproving but not bothered. If Baldwin intended to kill himself, that was his own affair (so long as he was up to date with paying his bills, of course). Ralph would give advice, and that was an end to his responsibilities. ‘It is up to you, but I have found that my patients survive better if they arise from their beds and indulge in some light exercise. Still, the corollary to that is that you should not overstrain yourself. I urge you to remain here, Sir Baldwin. It would be most unfortunate if you were to ruin the excellent progress you have made in the last week just for this one meeting. What good it could do you, I do not know. Far better that you should walk a little about the Cathedral Close, sit in the sun when it shines, and rest yourself.’

‘Shut up, fool!’ Baldwin snarled.

Jeanne took his arm, and the pair walked from the room. Outside Simon stood waiting, while Edgar sat on a bench nearby. His head was still very painful, as was obvious from his grimace as the sun shone full in his face, but for all that he was remarkably well recovered after his heavy knock. Seeing Baldwin, he stood immediately and the four of them set off.

Their path took them past John Coppe. Baldwin himself reached into his pocket and fumbled for a coin, throwing it to the beggar as they passed.

‘That was kind of you,’ Jeanne commented.

‘He deserves better,’ Baldwin said gruffly. ‘If it weren’t for him, you and I might both be dead.’

That was a sobering thought. She was silent for some while. Her black eye was still a glorious colour, with blues and purples fading to yellow at the edges. The whole of the battle in Janekyn’s small chamber was hazy to her, and she was glad of the fact. She craved forgetfulness. All she knew was that her man was alive and recovering. With that she was well-satisfied. She thrust her arm through his. Unseemly, perhaps, to behave in so forward a manner in public, but convention be damned. She wanted to be like this for ever — close to her husband, secure in his love.

For that was how she felt. Ever since that appalling day of her arrival here, she had been convinced that her husband’s love had returned. She looked up at his stern features with a sense of relief, tempered with the memory of that bleak time when he seemed to lose his affection for her. She dreaded it happening again and would do everything in her power to prevent it. She loved him: she couldn’t bear to lose him.

Joel was already sitting in his chair waiting when they knocked on the door. He swigged back the wine in his mazer and rose to his feet as Vince led them into his hall. ‘Godspeed.’

Baldwin nodded, and Simon managed a short bow, while Jeanne murmured her own greeting, dipping her fingers in the stoup by the door and making the sign of the cross over her breast. Edgar said nothing, but walked away from Baldwin to the wall not far from Joel. From there he appeared to be keeping an eye on Joel and on his apprentice, and Joel gave him a suspicious look. The man looked intensely threatening.

Joel was surprised to hear the next knocking at the door, and when he saw Vincent’s father, his astonishment was reflected on his face. ‘Wymond? What do you want?’

‘My boy reckoned I ought to hear what you’ve got to say.’

‘Vincent? What’s this about?’

Baldwin interjected, ‘Perhaps it will become clearer if you tell the story.’

Joel nodded. He contemplated the men in front of him as he began. ‘I suppose you’ve heard all about the murder of the Chaunter?’ he said heavily. ‘Well, all I can say is, you don’t understand how things were. It was hell in the city when that new arse came in.

‘No one wanted Quivil. He was out to stop anything that made business profitable for us. The fellows from the city wanted someone who was more … congenial , but Quivil was determined to interfere, silly bastard! Sorry, my Lady,’ he added, glancing at Jeanne.

‘When the Treasurer managed to get himself the Deanship, that was like a red rag to Quivil. He went berserk, so they said. Ranted about the corruption eating at the Chapter, said John Pycot was a canker that had to be cut out, and the like. And then, to stifle any ambitions John might have had, he put that idiot Lecchelade in place to hinder him. Everything John tried to do, Walter de Lecchelade stopped him. Even refused him access to the Dean’s stall in the choir. It was impossible. All business at the Cathedral was effectively held up by their antipathy. And what else could we do, but try to save the place?’

‘By murder.’ Baldwin’s tone was flat and unemotional.

‘Granted it wasn’t the way most people would have sought to straighten things, but John Pycot had taken about as much as he could stand. He was at least a sensible bloke you could talk to, while the Bishop and his lackey wanted their own way and weren’t prepared to discuss it.