Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

Better to live well while he could, though. That was a principle he had learned early on, and one he intended to maintain.

There was a rattling of keys outside, and then the door swung slowly open to show Simon and Sir Baldwin in the company of the gaoler. Simon slipped a coin in the gaoler’s hand, and the man ushered the two inside, locking the door behind them.

‘Well?’ William snapped. ‘What do you two want? Haven’t you done me enough harm already?’

‘We have done you no harm,’ Baldwin said. ‘All we have done is uncovered the harm you have done to yourself and to others. Do not seek to blame us for these present conditions.’

‘I am innocent.’

‘You were the man who told the King about the gate being left open after the Chaunter’s death?’ Simon asked.

‘What of it?’

‘It seems peculiar that the keeper should himself have left the gate open,’ Baldwin said. ‘After all, it must lead to the King realising that he was involved in some way. A more open declaration of complicity would be hard to imagine.’

‘He was an old fool. Maybe he didn’t think.’

‘Or maybe he was a fool enough to trust a young lad. Maybe he thought that his son’s friend couldn’t do any harm in his home.’

William shot a look at Baldwin. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Only this. You sought to profit from the gate being opened. I simply wonder whether you could also have been guilty of opening it yourself. I don’t believe that a man as respected as a gatekeeper could resort to leaving the gate wide in that way.’

William shrugged. ‘It was nothing to do with me. The man must have thought it was a good idea.’

‘Did he often leave the gates open, then?’ Simon pressed.

‘No, of course not.’

‘Quite so,’ Baldwin said. ‘And yet he left them open that night, or so you would have us believe.’

‘I don’t care a fig for what you believe, masters!’ William hissed, snapping his fingers at Baldwin. His anger was fired now, and he half-stood. Simon moved a hand towards his sword hilt, but William didn’t care. ‘You want to rake over that shit from years ago? Well, you do so. It’s no concern of mine. All I know is, Joel had an idea and I took it from him. Since then he’s hated me. So what — I don’t give a toss. Me, though, I’ve been treated abysmally. I have been shot at, almost killed, and you treat me like a common draw-latch. Well, I’m not going to suffer this longer than I have to.’

‘Who attacked you?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘As if you care!’

‘But I do. Who was it — do you know?’

William studied him for a moment, assessing his honesty. Then he sank back onto his bench and shrugged. ‘I can’t be certain. I thought it was Joel, so I went and thumped him, but he denied it and I believe him now, in retrospect. He was always a good bowman. These two arrows were close to me, but not quite near enough to hurt me, and they were fired from not far away. The bowman was lousy, unless he just intended scaring me.’

‘You should be glad that it was not the tanner who shot at you,’ Baldwin said, remembering the dead rat on Exe Island.

‘If you say so. I assume it was the same man who shot you. Stephen must have had the same fear about me as he did about the others. He thought we would expose him as being part of the Chaunter’s murder, and since his position depended upon his integrity, he thought our evidence would destroy him. So he tried to kill them, and me, and then you.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘I expect you are right,’ he said smoothly, and a few moments later he had paid another small coin to the gaoler and was walking with Simon towards the East Gate and the High Street.

‘Why didn’t you tell him?’ Simon asked.

‘What — that it wasn’t Stephen who tried to kill me? It didn’t seem important. The fact that Matthew did so might possibly lead to William deciding to take his revenge at some point, and there’s little point leaving a potential cause for further feuding.’

‘William will be released, you believe, then?’

‘I expect so.’

‘What will you do about Matthew?’

Baldwin smiled. ‘I shall speak to the good Dean.’

‘And what of the Southern Gate?’

Baldwin glanced at the sky speculatively. ‘A good question. I think that William might have slipped into the porter’s lodgings and taken the chance of opening the gate when he could. Then announcing it to the King detracted from his guilt. But there is no proof if he refuses to confess.’

‘Do you think he will?’

With a sigh, Baldwin shook his head. ‘Stranger things have happened, I suppose.’

Dean Alfred was in his hall when they arrived. He had been celebrating Mass, and then had to attend the Chapter meeting at which many issues were discussed.

‘But without any — ah — advantageous conclusion,’ he sighed as he motioned to the visitors to sit.

Baldwin groaned as he sat. Each time he moved his shoulders, arms or torso, it felt as though a fresh stab wound was opened in his breast. Much as he disliked the physician, he acknowledged that Ralph’s ministrations were helping; however he couldn’t sit still for as long as Ralph recommended. At least the wound appeared to be healing well. Even Ralph himself expressed approval with Baldwin’s progress. If only it were not so painful.

‘Sir Baldwin? Some wine?’ the Dean enquired solicitously.

As soon as Baldwin and Simon were seated comfortably with large mazers in their hands, Alfred sipped at his own, shaking his head. ‘I don’t know what to do. There is no one in the Cathedral’s Chapter who is remotely capable of taking over Stephen or Matthew’s work. No one can make sense of the figures in their rolls.’

‘Were they really so indispensable?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Without a doubt. There was no — um — false modesty about their assertions that they were irreplaceable. I fear for the rebuilding.’

‘Then why should Stephen have put all that at risk by setting out on this murderous spree?’ Simon asked.

‘I think that — er — is easily answered,’ the Dean said. ‘It was simply his attempt to prevent what has in fact happened. He tried to — ah — stifle any suggestion that he was involved in the murder of the Chaunter so that he could continue with the rebuilding work and bring Matthew up to his own standard. He hoped that the works would not be — um — compromised. You must try to understand, Bailiff, that this fellow lived for the Cathedral as he hoped it would one day be. It was never a part of his design to kill a man and damn his soul, but he was so desperate to see the great plan go ahead unhindered, that he was prepared to try anything to protect it. Even kill.’

‘Yes, I confess that his attack on me was a surprise,’ Baldwin murmured.

‘But logical. He realised you had learned that there were others involved in the murder of the Chaunter, and he thought that removing you would remove the threat of that becoming common knowledge. Ironically, it was the realisation that you were approaching Matthew that led him to take such a course of action.’

Baldwin smiled and shook his head. ‘That is intriguing, but I don’t think it likely. The arrow that hit me was a clothyard shaft. What use would Stephen have had for that? No, that was not him. Stephen only attacked me in Janekyn’s room. Stephen was acting for the best, as he saw it. He reckoned that Matthew was in danger, but he thought that I was the one who would, as you say, put the case against him. To protect Matthew, Stephen decided to destroy me.’

‘I don’t understand. You — ah — say that he didn’t fire at you, but he did.’

‘Matthew tried to shoot me because I realised that he was the killer of Saul. It occurred to me that aiming a rock from a Cathedral wall and hoping to kill a man so many yards below was a foolish method to use. But Thomas was up there on the scaffold … surely a rock falling could sweep him away with it, especially if he foolishly tried to stop it from plummeting to earth. Yes, Matthew reasoned that I was too close to the truth, and he tried to remove me in order to protect himself.’