Bernard Knight - A Plague of Heretics

His voice was strong and resonant, the utterance of a man used to getting his own way. The coroner muttered something neutral and sat down in the other chair, as the canon indicated.

‘I have no doubt that you wish to seek my help in respect of this sinner who was found dead yesterday in Raden Lane?’

‘You know about that, then?’ said John.

‘All Exeter knows about it, coroner. Even to the strange injuries he suffered.’ Again de Wolfe marvelled at the way in which news passed around the city like lightning.

‘You knew this man Nicholas Budd?’

The canon, who had let his corpulent body sink back into the chair, shook his head.

‘I had never met him, though I would have done shortly when he was due to be arraigned at the bishop’s court — but God took a hand in the matter.’

‘So how did you discover that he was deserving of your attention?’

Fitz Rogo smiled indulgently, but his small cold eyes took away any hint of humour. ‘Those who deny the authority of the Holy Church cannot conceal themselves for long. They are like rats skulking in the midden, but the hounds of Rome always flush them out!’

This colourful reply did nothing to answer John’s question.

‘But how came he to be brought to answer for his sins at this particular time?’

The priest ran a finger around his collar to ease away his drooping jowls. ‘Let me explain, Sir John,’ he said rather condescendingly, as if lecturing a backward chorister. ‘Some time ago, the Papal Legate — the Holy Father’s representative in England — passed on to every bishop a message from Rome. This expressed concern at the revival of blasphemous and seditious beliefs contrary to the Catholic teachings of the Church, especially in southern France and Germany.’

‘And in England?’ interposed de Wolfe.

The canon hummed and hawed a little. ‘Admittedly, they were not on the same scale as in these other places. But we were all told to be vigilant and to stamp out heresy wherever it may be found, lest these evil seeds take root and blossom.’

He scowled at some private memory. ‘I regret to say that Bishop Marshal did not appear to be unduly disturbed by the threat, probably because he is so concerned with the politics of Church and State that he has little time for dangers closer to home.’

He sniffed disdainfully, mindful of his own failed efforts to obtain the mitre. ‘In fact, our bishop is rarely in his diocese, as I expect you are aware.’

Even John, uninterested as he was in religious matters, knew from his conversations with John de Alençon that Bishop Henry Marshal was to be found more often in Westminster, Canterbury or Coventry than he was in Devon. But all this was not getting him any nearer to learning about Nicholas Budd.

‘But how came you to seize upon this particular man?’ he demanded, tiring of the canon’s lecture.

‘My brother canons — at least, two of them — and myself decided to augment the bishop’s lack of enthusiasm by carrying out the Legate’s instructions more directly,’ explained fitz Rogo with an air of self-importance. ‘We instructed the proctors’ men to keep a special lookout for any hints of heresy and even to pay agents among the common folk to keep their ears open for the same.’

‘You mean you set spies among the people?’ said John bluntly, but the canon seemed impervious to sarcasm.

‘All means are legitimate in the service of God,’ he said piously. ‘The devil employs every evil artifice in his campaigns, so we need to follow his example.’

‘So what did your spies report to you?’ asked John irreverently.

‘They found that Budd was seducing people with his blasphemous ideas, both among his customers and folk that he met in the market or the alehouse. And as if this was not blatant enough, more recently he has been meeting secretly with others in dwellings or in the countryside to discuss and elaborate on their foul concepts.’

‘How could you know of this, if they were held in private places?’ demanded John.

‘Our agents passed themselves off as possible converts to this religion of the Antichrist,’ boomed the priest. ‘In fact, one of them seemed to be so taken with the sedition that he has refused to work for the proctors any longer. We are keeping a sharp eye on him,’ he added threateningly.

‘Did Nicholas Budd know that he was to be arraigned?’

‘Indeed he did. The proctors’ men delivered a message to him a week ago, telling of the time and place that he must present himself before the preliminary examination. If he had failed to appear, they would have seized him and incarcerated him in the proctors’ cells near St Mary’s Church.’

The canon rubbed his podgy hands together, almost in delight.

‘But now he has been spared that ordeal — and the Church is rid of one more blasphemer.’ Fitz Rogo seemed quite pleased at the outcome.

‘If the Church had found him guilty, would he have had his tongue and throat cut out?’ asked de Wolfe cynically. ‘For that was his fate, and I see no other reason for a quiet tradesman to be so brutally done to death, apart from his beliefs.’

The former archdeacon shrugged. ‘Perhaps some citizen more zealous than the Church itself was so incensed by this man’s heresy that he took the law into his own hands.’

The coroner felt that he was going to gain very little from this man and his entrenched attitude. ‘You say that you have two fellow canons who are equally assiduous in heeding the Legate’s warning. Can you tell me who those are?’

‘All the priesthood should be equally assiduous, Sir John, in carrying out the orders of the Papal Bull issued some twelve years ago. And, indeed, every Christian man and woman who respects the authority of Rome should be on the lookout for these evil people who would undermine the very fabric of the Church, including yourself, coroner,’ he brayed pompously. ‘But the leaders in this crusade were Ralph de Hospitali and Robert de Baggetor — and, of course, myself’

‘What about the other canons — there are twenty-four, are there not?’

Fitz Rogo looked slightly evasive. ‘Naturally, we are all concerned about this insidious evil — but some of my fellow prebendaries have other duties and other priorities, so it is left to we three to push forward the campaign. And I might tell you, Sir John, this man Budd was but one of many who have fallen by the wayside and absorbed this poison that seeps into the country from abroad.’

The canon’s last words rang in John’s head as he and Thomas walked back across the Close. ‘Poison seeping in from abroad’ was all too familiar a phrase, given the possibility that the yellow plague was being imported into Devon from foreign parts.

‘So what did you make of that, Thomas?’ he asked his clerk as they trudged towards South Gate Street. ‘Somehow I can’t see that fat priest as a knife-wielding killer.’

His clerk looked shocked at the suggestion that one of his seniors could even be considered as a murderer. ‘Indeed not, master! Yet I agree that there seems to be every reason to think that Budd’s heretical beliefs were the cause of his death.’

‘So we must look elsewhere for a culprit, Thomas. Yet do not dismiss anyone from suspicion, especially those with strong religious convictions. I spent two bloody years of my life at the Crusades, which were all about one faith trying to annihilate another.’

They walked through Bear Gate, then crossed the busy road that led down to one of the main city gates, to reach the warren of small lanes that ran down the slope towards the river.

‘I will have to speak to the other two zealous canons that fitz Rogo named,’ said John as they walked down towards Priest Street, where Thomas lodged. ‘But we can go together in the morning. What do you know about them?’