Michael Jecks: City of Fiends

‘Simon, I cannot listen to this,’ he muttered, and Simon nodded and left with him. Sir Richard and Edgar joined them.

‘A shameful business,’ Sir Richard said as they stood outside the church.

‘I am shocked to hear it,’ Simon said gruffly. ‘The idea of incest is not unknown in some of the farther distant valleys near Cornwall, but here, in a Christian city?’

Sir Richard eyed him with a benevolent smile. ‘Me dear fellow, there is nothing you can find happening in the most pagan of lands which ain’t goin’ on in the middle of the biggest cities in this kingdom. Wasn’t it you told me of the necromancer trying to kill the King by stabbing pins into a wax figure? At least incest doesn’t normally end a man’s life, eh?’

‘Clearly the boy Thomas has seen something of it, from the way he hid from his brother and sister,’ Baldwin hazarded. ‘It is sad to think that his own innocence has been shattered in this way.’

‘Aye,’ Sir Richard said, and would have continued, had not Simon pointed up the road. ‘What is that up there? It looks like the boy William.’

William ran up and drew to a stop, pointing back the way he had come. ‘Please! There is an angry mob outside the house again. They look as if they’re going to set fire to it!’

They could all hear the sound of chanting and singing, and a sudden bellowing. ‘Come!’ shouted Baldwin.

The street was already in an uproar by the time they reached it.

Simon found himself looking at the men and women of the mob. ‘Baldwin, I don’t like this. It is too much like London last year. And Bristol when the city was under siege.’

‘There are only forty or fifty men,’ Baldwin noted.

‘Forty or fifty swords could make me lose a lot of weight,’ Sir Richard considered. A man walked near him with a torch, and Sir Richard took it from his hand. He gave the stunned reveller a beaming smile and walked on, leaving the man bemused. ‘Come along, then, before they get rowdy.’

‘Rowdy?’ Simon repeated, gazing about him at the men.

The two men at the front of the crowd were rousing the worst elements into a frenzy of hatred towards the Paffard family.

‘Look what they did to me!’

The ragged slashes inflicted by John were displayed to increasing anger amongst the people there.

‘Come along, Sir Baldwin,’ Sir Richard boomed fussily. He pushed his way onwards, and the others followed in his wake like small boats trailing behind a ship. The people parted for them, until they were in the front. And Sir Richard did not hesitate, but carried on up the steps to the door. ‘You fellows know who lives here? Aye, I thought you did. He is dead. He was killed this afternoon. All there are in here are the womenfolk of the house, and the children. Are you all bold enough to make war on women and children? Come, now. Disperse before the Watch is called to you.’

‘We want them out, and then we’ll fire their house!’ the man with the cut arm yelled.

Sir Richard cast an eye over him. ‘Edgar, do you think you could silence him?’

Edgar nodded and moved off while the man continued haranguing the crowds. Simon watched him uneasily, while the two knights moved together slightly. Wolf was with Baldwin, his hackles rising.

There was a roar from the people, and the man before them raised his injured arm again with a fierce yell. He pointed at the house. ‘So, let’s get at them!’ he screamed, but as he turned to rush the house, he found himself staring into Edgar’s smiling face.

The man raised his fist to punch Edgar, but Edgar was a trained fighter. The punch he landed on the man’s chin hurled him backwards a yard. He looked bewildered at the force of the blow, and shook his head like a drunk trying to clear the wool from his wits, while two others supported him, and then he was about to lunge at Edgar when there was a sudden lull.

Simon turned to see that the front door had opened. In it stood Claricia Paffard. She was clad in a white linen tunic that made her look otherworldly in the light of the torches, almost like an angel. At her side was Thomas. Her head was encased in a tight cowl, and she looked at the people filling the street with a kind of wonder. ‘What do you want with me?’

There was a stillness. The man Edgar had hit was feeling his chin with a look of bewilderment, and others were shamefaced. It was one thing to attack a building, but quite another to hurt women and small boys. At the back, Simon saw two men look at each other and turn away. Hopefully more would soon disperse, and the matter could be forgotten. It was only fortunate that they had come out of the church in time to prevent a serious attack, he thought.

And then Gregory appeared. ‘What do you want with us?’ he demanded imperiously. ‘Do you think you can attack us because my father has died? I will have my place in the Freedom before long, and when I do, I’ll see to it that each and every one of you here tonight is punished.’

Simon could have cursed the fool. His words were inciting the crowd to violence even more efficiently than the rabble-rouser in front of Edgar. Shooting a look at Baldwin, Simon could see that he too recognised the danger, and was urgently indicating to Sir Richard that they should push the boy inside.

There was a stone flung, which crashed into the wall near Gregory’s head. All at once, Gregory’s face changed, as though he suddenly realised his danger. Another stone was thrown, and it smashed into his shoulder, making him lurch backwards. He gave a cry, and Claricia turned to reach for him. Before she could do so, however, Edgar had swept her off her feet, and drew her away with Thomas.

And that was when the crowd surged forward. Baldwin and Sir Richard were thrust aside, Baldwin knocked from his feet before he could draw steel, and Sir Richard took up his position above him, his own sword in his fist, saving Baldwin from being trampled. Simon managed to push his way to the side of Sir Richard, and clasped Baldwin’s forearm, lifting him from the ground. Then all three, with their weapons ready, tried to make their way to the doorway, but could not beat their way through the press.

Gregory had disappeared. Simon hoped he had made his way inside, but could not be sure. There was the sound of breaking wood, and then hammering as the mob tried to break into the house. Simon saw a section of the wall to the side of the door gave way under the efforts of six men with hammers and picks.

Uppermost in Simon’s mind was Agatha. She was only a young woman, and with a drunken throng like this, she would certainly be in danger. It was unthinkable that a girl so much younger than his own dear daughter Edith could be left to fend for herself against so many, and he shoved his way towards the hole in the house wall.

Someone had clambered inside and removed the door’s bar, and now it was thrust wide, and there was a shout of victory as men tumbled in. Simon was among them, and he ran ahead hoping that he might reach the girl before the crowd. He was the seventh man to hurtle along the passageway, but then, when he reached the hall, he saw it was too late.

Agatha and Gregory lay on the floor, entwined in a pool of their own mingled blood.

Second Saturday after the Nativity of St John the Baptist 11

Precentor’s House

Adam Murimuth poured the wine himself that morning. He was grateful to these men for their efforts in the last week, and it was a sign of his respect that he brought the drinks to them.

‘Sir Baldwin, Sir Richard, Simon, I can only say that I and the Cathedral are indebted to you for everything you have done. It is sad indeed that this affair should have come to such a pass, but at least you have resolved it. I trust you are all well now? You slept well?’