Bernard Knight - A Plague of Heretics

‘For Christ’s sake, what are you doing, John?’ came a familiar voice. ‘Put that damned knife away.’

It was Richard de Revelle, his detested brother-in-law, who came cautiously towards him, as John’s knife hand slowly subsided.

‘I came to visit my sister. Is this the welcome I get?’ he brayed in his high-pitched voice. Suspecting from John’s manner that something was amiss, he hurried forward, keeping his brother-in-law at arm’s length until he reached the chairs near the hearth. Finding them empty, he dropped his gaze and saw his sister lying motionless on the floor. With a cry of horror, he dropped to one knee and, like John, instantly recognised that she was beyond any mortal help.

‘What have you done, you bastard?’ he shrieked, looking up fearfully at de Wolfe, as if he expected him to jump murderously upon him. ‘You’ve killed her, you swine!’ He struggled to his feet and backed away from the coroner.

‘I knew this would happen! I’ve heard the many threats you’ve made against the poor woman!’ He stumbled backwards a few more steps. ‘It was bound to happen sooner or later, but you’ll not get away with it, damn you! I’ll see you hang for this!’

His hysteria seemed to jerk John back into rational thought. ‘Don’t be so bloody silly, Richard!’ he said dully, dropping his knife carelessly on to the flagstones. ‘I found her like this when I came in, not three minutes ago. It must have been those two swine who attacked that woman in Polsloe. I must send for the sheriff. He’ll know what to do.’

‘Damned right he will!’ shrilled de Revelle. ‘He’ll arrest you for murder if he knows what’s good for him!’ He moved warily towards the door, half-afraid that de Wolfe was going to jump on him.

‘Where are you going?’ snapped John. ‘You must help me get her decently laid out, not left crumpled on the cold floor.’

‘Don’t you dare touch her!’ shouted de Revelle. ‘You’ve done enough damage already. And nothing must be moved until the sheriff and his men get here — you should know that, as so-called coroner!’

He sidled to the door. As he vanished, he shouted, ‘I’m off to raise the hue and cry — though they’ll not have far to search for the killer!’

John slumped into his chair and stared across the room at where his wife’s feet pointed at him accusingly. The fire had livened up and he could see her more clearly, lying there murdered before her own hearth. The feeling of unreality began to creep over him again and he leaped up to dispel it, but again hovered indecisively over her still form.

Then the door opened again and Mary entered, straight from the street with a woollen shawl draped over her head and shoulders.

‘What’s going on, Sir John?’ she asked briskly. ‘Your brother-in-law is hammering on the door of the next house.’

He looked at her dully and wordlessly waved a hand towards the hearth. His cook-maid came forward to stare at what was behind the chair. Typically of her, she neither screamed nor shouted but dropped to her knees and felt Matilda’s face with the back of her hand.

‘She’s still warm,’ she said harshly.

‘But dead, Mary! She’s been strangled by some bastard.’

His voice was flat and desolate. The maid stood up, pulling the shawl from her dark hair and spreading it gently over the body of her mistress.

‘She must be covered up. It’s not seemly for her to be left like this,’ she said briskly. Not for a moment did she think that John was responsible. Her mind was on what needed to be done.

‘You sit down and I’ll get you some brandy-wine, then you can go for help, before her brother causes you more mischief. She hurried to the side table and brought him a cup of strong spirit, the same stuff that had been used to start the fire in Milk Lane. He swallowed it in a couple of gulps and then stood up again.

‘I must go to the castle to see if Henry de Furnellis is still there,’ he announced thickly. ‘Can you send old Simon down to the Bush to tell Gwyn what’s happened?’

She nodded and went to the door, pushing Brutus out of the way, as he was peering in, wondering what was happening. ‘I’ll take him with me out of the way.’

She disappeared, and with leaden feet he made for the street door. As he reached it, he collided with Richard de Revelle, who pushed him back inside before John could resist.

‘No, you don’t, you stay here!’ screeched Richard. ‘Help, he’s trying to make a run for it!’ he yelled at a higher pitch. Behind him came Clement the doctor and then two men John vaguely recognised as belonging to the house around the corner in the Close, some minor lay functionaries from the cathedral. They all crowded into the vestibule, almost filling it, before de Wolfe could retaliate.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he shouted. ‘Get out of my house this minute!’

Richard grabbed him by the arm. ‘We are the hue and cry, and you are under arrest!’ he yelled, an almost maniacal look of triumph on his face as he saw a chance of repaying all the indignities that de Wolfe had heaped on him over the past years.

For answer, the coroner pulled his arm free and landed his brother-in-law a punch on the chest, then another on the jaw that sent him reeling backwards to hit the wall behind.

‘Don’t you dare handle me, you madman!’ he hissed and advanced on Richard, prepared to strike him again.

Clement seized his arm and tried to calm him down. ‘Sir John, I beg you to behave like the gentleman you are. Just let us see what the situation is in your hall.’

Breathing hard, de Wolfe pulled himself together and allowed the physician and the other men through the inner door. By now, two other men from the corner house on the High Street had been summoned, together with Andrew from his stables opposite. Cecilia and Lucille hovered behind them, the maid attracted from the yard, wide-eyed with apprehension. They all trooped into the high chamber, where the new logs were now burning brightly enough to give a good light. As John led the way across to the chairs standing before the hearth, Richard pushed his way forward, rubbing his chin with one hand and gesticulating with the other.

‘You are all witnesses to his assault upon me!’ he babbled. ‘He is a dangerous man. Be careful. He has already killed, he is violent and not to be trusted!’

His protests were ignored, as the sight of Matilda’s body had transfixed them. Mary’s shawl covered her head, but Lucille gave a piercing scream and collapsed sobbing on to the floor, in spite of the fact that her mistress had made her life a misery. It was Cecilia who ran forward and crouched at Matilda’s side, gently pulling back the woollen cloth and feeling for a heartbeat in the woman’s neck.

‘Clement, come here quickly!’ she commanded. ‘See if anything can be done for her.’

Her husband joined her on his knees and, pushing her out of the way, felt Matilda’s throat and then lifted up her eyelids one at a time. ‘She is dead — she cannot be revived.’ He crossed himself, as did several of the men standing around.

‘I told you, de Wolfe killed her,’ rasped de Revelle. ‘You can see the grip marks of his fingers on her throat!’

Clement got up, while Cecilia reverently replaced the shawl over the dead woman’s face. Then she went across to where Lucille was crumpled on the floor making whimpering sounds.

‘Come on, my girl, I’ll take you next door away from all this trouble.’ She put an arm around the maid and led her sobbing to the door, leaving the men looking at each other in consternation, though the physician advanced on the coroner.

‘What do you say to all this, sir?’ asked Clement sternly.

John glared at him. ‘I say that this is none of your damned business!’ he snapped. ‘But if you must know, I came home a short while ago from the Bush alehouse to find the street door open and my wife dead upon the floor!’