Michael JECKS - The Sticklepath Strangler

Gervase felt his belly contract at her words. Surely she was wrong. She must have told someone if she had known about her man’s raping of young girls. Nobody could stand by and permit such a heinous crime, could they?

He was grateful to be interrupted by Felicia returning. Patting Gunilda’s hand, he stood. She hardly appeared to notice, as though she had already forgotten he was there, and he walked from the chapel, going into the cemetery to seek peace. The sun was lower in the west now, and he stood watching it move towards Tongue End, musing on the evil that there was in the world. When he continued walking, his sandal was loose, and he irritably scuffed it against the ground. The sole came loose and he stamped his foot in anger. It was as if even his footwear was conspiring to make life difficult.

And it was then, as he stifled his cursing, that he heard the low, doleful wail coming from beneath him; from beneath the soil, from the grave itself, and he gave a short shriek of horror, walking backwards, his gaze fixed in terror at the ground.

The truth was forced upon him. God sought to punish him, the vill, everyone, for their evil: the curse was returned to life!

‘No! God, please, no!’ he whispered. At that moment the hounds began to howl again, and he felt his bowels loosen as though filled with water. A primeval horror rose and engulfed him, making him gibber, and then he turned and ran from that hideous place, over the road to the security of his own house and his wine.

Only later did he realise he had bolted past the open door to his chapel and the safety that the cross should have offered him, and that realisation made him weep still more bitterly. His soul was taken by demons, and now it must be tormented for all eternity in hellfire. Even the cross couldn’t give him solace.

He was lost.

Thomas walked from his house with the feeling that everyone was watching him, although whenever he turned and peered at the houses all about him, he could see no one.

His sow, his pride and joy, was in her yard, enclosed by a solid wall and well-constructed hurdles which she could have pushed over if she had a will, but she was ever a calm, mild-mannered creature, and never bothered. Thomas walked to her and stood leaning on the wall a while, watching her as she snuffled her way through the thick straw piled high all about her. She at least looked unconcerned by accusations or possible trials. All she cared about was the next meal. It was a simple life, one which today Thomas could envy.

The body was gone. That was a blessing, although from the clouds of flies which rose and swarmed about the straw, there was still plenty of Emma’s blood about the place. The corpse had been taken away and was even now probably being bathed and wrapped in her winding sheet. In this heat the vill would want her in her grave as quickly as possible, and since her father was long gone and her mother was insane, there was no need to worry about the family’s wishes.

She was the last of her father’s line. It was a poignant idea, that the youngest member of a family should die and be found in so undignified a manner, lying half concealed in an outbuilding. It made him consider Joan. If he were to be accused in court and convicted, for he had no faith in his neighbours after this morning’s display, then what would happen to his little girl? On a busy road like this, there would be bound to be plenty of felons, draw-latches and thieves who would be interested in a girl like her.

Nicole would do all she could to protect their child, but her own life would become unbearable after Thomas had died. He had seen too many other widows in vills like this for him to harbour false hopes. It would only take one man to decide that she wanted him after he had spent an afternoon on the ale, for him to rape her. And soon the news would spread that she was ‘begging for it, desperate, she was, without a man for so long. Give her one for me…’ Oh yes, Thomas had heard it all before. There had been subtle variations on the same theme when he had married Nicky to protect her from the families of her father’s victims.

Rape wasn’t unknown. It was rarely appealed in court, for the woman must demonstrate that she had suffered, and that meant displaying her torn and bloodied garments, and stripping to prove that she had been evilly used. Not many women would willingly go through that.

He tried to force the ideas from his mind, walking out to the roadway again.

‘So, brother, you may go to gaol soon.’

‘Ivo!’ Thomas breathed. ‘Have you come to gloat?’

‘No, not gloat. I merely wanted to see where the murderer lived. You know, I hadn’t realised you could do something like that. Killing her, yes, raping her, of course, poor child. But eating her? That seems to have shocked even your neighbours here, surprisingly. I’d have thought that the folks here would be fairly stolid, but they seem perfectly stunned at your behaviour.’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I never touched Emma.’

‘Come, brother, you don’t have to lie to me! Was she sweet and willing? Or did you have to force her?’ Ivo asked. He held a long staff in his hand, and he leaned on it to smile lecherously at Thomas.

‘By God’s grace, shut up.’

‘Threats again? That’s one way of convincing everyone that you’re innocent, I suppose, although I’d have thought it preferable to maintain a dignified calmness.’

‘Be silent, Ivo!’ Thomas noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked up to meet Joan’s appalled gaze.

‘Perhaps you think that I would be easy too, like that little girl? Is that it? I am only a clerk, when all is said and done. A Manciple has no military training, after all. I should be easy for a hulking great peasant like you to overwhelm. Just like a little girl. I hope you found her satisfying. It’s a shame that your wife can’t satisfy you any more, but I suppose even you learned that a hangman’s daughter is not the tastiest morsel. Strange. She looked attractive enough when I first saw her and lay with her, but now I don’t think I’d want to touch her with your staff, brother, let alone my own.’

Thomas forgot his daughter as the angry flush coloured his cheeks. ‘You have never lain with my wife, you lying bastard!’

‘Ah, she didn’t want you to know. Perhaps the comparison did not favour you! But yes, I had her three times that first time I came through here after you returned from France. In the one day. You were out working, and – well, so was I in my own way. Ha! But she lacks a certain something, doesn’t she? In the bed. Enthusiastic, but not satisfying.’

With a growl low in his throat, Thomas felt the rage wash over and smother him. It was enough. The taunts had served to flare his frustration and fear into flames of rage, and as he looked at Ivo, there was a red mist, as though there was a fine spray of blood between them. Thomas leaped for him, grabbing for Ivo’s long robe, even as his brother gave a short squeak of alarm and bolted up the road.

Thomas didn’t hesitate. He gave chase, reaching with his long arms for the flapping material before him, and as they reached the Reeve’s house, he caught it. Snatching it quickly, he stopped his brother in his tracks.

Ivo scarcely knew what had happened to him. In an instant he had been halted by an immovable force that reached about his shoulders. He felt like a horse he had once seen, which had been pulling a heavy cart up a track, when a wheel had collapsed. The horse had been going along smartly, and the shock of suddenly halting had caused it to collapse in a heap on the track.

He didn’t intend copying it. Thrusting an arm backwards, he let the cloth fall from him, then gripped his staff in that hand while letting the other sleeve loose. Before his brother could grab at him, he shot off again.