Michael Jecks - City of Fiends

‘GOOD SIR REGINALD, WOULD YOU MIND IF WE TOOK A LOOK IN SITU ?’

‘Who are you, sir?’

‘I am Sir Richard de Welles, Coroner of Lifton. I have some little experience of matters of this sort.’

The man scratched at his beard, and then when he shrugged and stood aside, the two knights and their escort walked past him and up the alley.

‘What can they hope to see up there?’ Juliana whispered.

Alley near Paffards’ House

‘Bit dark in here,’ Sir Richard rumbled as they stepped over the rubbish.

‘It is hardly congenial to an investigation,’ Baldwin agreed.

The alley was a mess. Baldwin saw the body of a cat lying in a corner: it was clear that the scavengers had not cleared through here in weeks, which was a surprise, bearing in mind that Paffard was a wealthy man. Such fellows tended to receive better service.

There was a City Bailiff standing by the body, and Baldwin nodded to him. He thought he recognised the fellow from a previous investigation, but for now his full attention was fixed on Alice.

She lay on her left side, half-covered by a cloak, her legs against the wall. Her torso ran at an angle from the wall, while her head reached out almost halfway across the alley. He could see one arm, her right, which lay over her breast, the hand on the ground in a natural manner, as though she was asleep. Sir Richard wandered up, and stood over her sadly.

‘Very young, this maid, eh?’ he said to the Bailiff.

‘Yes, sir. Seventeen, I think.’

‘Where was she from?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Not Exeter, I know that. She’s one of these girls who come in looking for work. You know what it’s like. There are hundreds of them each year, thinking the city’s paved with gold. They all reckon it’s the place to come and find a little work, have some fun, snare a man and live happily ever after.’

‘Most of them don’t have such a happy experience, do they?’ Baldwin said, crouching at her side.

‘No, sir. Too many end up at the stews, and if they’re unlucky, they die there. Thank God some come to their senses and go home.’

‘But many don’t have a home to return to,’ Baldwin noted.

‘What of this one?’ Sir Richard asked. ‘Was she a whore?’

‘No, sir. She lived here. Got a job with the Paffard family,’ the Bailiff said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the merchant’s house. ‘She was just unlucky. Probably caught the eye of some drunk, and he followed her and killed her here.’

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said. He rose, facing along the alley towards Combe Street. ‘She has been stabbed twice in the breast. Not a frenzied attack, then. Her hands have defensive wounds, you see, Sir Richard? So she tried to beat him off, but presumably he wasn’t taking no for an answer, and when she still refused his advances, he stabbed her and let her fall.’

The Bailiff nodded. ‘Could be.’

‘We should examine her in the light,’ Baldwin said. ‘Edgar, would you go and inform Sir – what was his name?’

‘Sir Reginald, sir.’

‘Well, let him know we are finished and that the body should be taken out for the jury.’

‘Sir.’

Baldwin stared down at her. He breathed in the stench of decay; felt shards of broken pottery snap under his boots.

Hers was a grim resting-place.

Four men returned with Edgar. Two took up an arm each, a third her legs, and the fourth followed unhappily as the three lugged Alice’s body along the alley back to the inquest.

‘It is almost as though,’ Baldwin said, ‘she was placed here deliberately, along with all the rubbish.’

Road east of Exeter

The roadway here was ideal for an ambush, Sir Charles thought. He would have to keep that in mind.

So far, their campaign had met with considerable success. They already had four carts containing rich cloths, gold and coin, and a number of plates and jewelled or enamelled work. He could not remember a ride which had provided such profits.

His companions were a raggle-taggle bunch – some peasants, two men who he was sure should long ago have been hanged, one renegade priest and a few who had been committed to the old King – but on the whole they seemed reliable. Yesterday in the church he had tested them and all had proved satisfactory.

Ulric was different. He had no place here. His only duty had been to bring news from Exeter about the Bishop’s travels, but he had had no idea that his intelligence was to be used to kill Bishop James. Sir Charles was very content to have him as squire, untrained though he might be. The lad had saved him in that hall.

Besides, this untrained squire had very light duties, since Sir Charles possessed little in the way of equipment to be cleaned and maintained. It was his fervent wish that he might renew his fortunes by this meandering ride through the Bishop’s estates. The thought of the armour and mail he could buy when he had the King’s favour was almost enough to make his mouth water. The proceeds of this ride must be desposited with the King’s backers, of course, but there should be a trifle left over for him.

A fine spitting rain began, and he pulled his hood over his head. He was used to such weather. The main thing was to ensure that one’s sword and dagger were safe from the damp, and so he tugged a fold of his cloak about him as he rode, covering their hilts.

Yes, there should be a good profit. For now, he must continue with his little campaign, and then get to the man in Exeter who was to take all the goods and sell them. Ulric’s master, a merchant called Paffard, would be happy to take all this from him for a good fee. And then the money could be taken to Sir Edward of Caernarfon and the Dunheved gang who had released him from his gaol, to help fund his return to the throne.

Aye, Sir Charles thought to himself, life was good. And there, three miles distant, was another manor ready and waiting to be despoiled. He smiled contentedly.

Combe Street near the alley

Sir Reginald looked petulant when the two knights finally emerged from the alley, Emma thought. For all the sombre mood of the gathering, it was tempting to giggle at his grumpy expression.

‘Undress her,’ he commanded, but there was no movement from the watching crowd. ‘Come! Someone must undress her.’

There was such a tone of hurt in his voice that Emma wanted to pet him. He was little more than a boy in a man’s office. He glanced down at the clerk as if seeking support, but the clerk was writing in his rolls still, and made no effort to assist.

‘Helewisia,’ Emma said, ‘come and help. We can’t leave the poor chit to some carter or tanner. Better that we do it.’

Her neighbour nodded, and without speaking, they both went to the figure and knelt beside it.

Alice had been set down a short way from the alley, and her body was cold and flaccid, which was a relief; the two woman could undress her without too much difficulty. They gently removed her clothes and piled them neatly to one side, and then moved away.

It was sad to see her naked. Emma knew it was essential that the corpse should be exposed to the full view of the Coroner and his jury, but still it seemed as though the girl was being humiliated after death. She crossed herself, and realised a tear was forming in her eye. She wiped it away crossly. Tears should be saved for the funeral itself, not expended here.

‘I find that she has been stabbed twice in the breast,’ the Coroner declared loudly, studying the slim body. ‘Once in each. It’s . . .’ He broke off and turned away.

‘As if she was being deliberately marked in the breasts,’ Sir Richard finished for him.