Michael JECKS - The Traitor of St Giles

‘Is that all?’ Father Abraham demanded curtly.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Do you realise the danger you’re in? No, I don’t suppose you do, do you?’

Hick looked up slowly, anxiously. The priest’s voice held a depth of loathing that the rat-catcher had never encountered before. Revulsion he had experienced, aimed at him by the wealthier women in the town who enjoyed having someone to look down upon, but never before had he seen the contempt, the near-hatred that now distorted Father Abraham’s features. Unknowingly he withdrew, leaning back on his heels as the priest’s visage loomed nearer.

‘Your fornicating with that drab whore makes you no better than a dog with his bitch. You’re foul; beastly. If you sink any lower, you’ll be worse than a beast, and then you will have sacrificed your immortal soul. You understand me?’

Hick nodded swiftly, his head bobbing up and down. Hick knew that when the priest warned him, he’d better take note. If he didn’t, he’d be burned for eternity. Father Abraham had told him so.

‘You’ll become no better than the lowest of all men, a sodomite and paederast, slobbering and foul, like one of those damned Templars ! You’ve heard of them? That Sir Gilbert was one of them. Evil! Evil and depraved! They were so disgusting in the sight of God that they all had to be burned at the stake – do you want that?’

‘No, Father,’ Hick squeaked.

‘You know how they began? They were the holiest warriors in Christendom, until they went out to the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and that is why we lost the Kingdom. The Knights Templar took on the ways of the Moors; they lusted after gold and women and forgot themselves so much they learned the arts of witchcraft and devil worship. They would spit on the cross or urinate on it, and they murdered babies on their intolerable altars deep in their foul temples, then ate the child’s flesh!’ His voice broke with religious horror. ‘Can you imagine that? They used to eat children .’

Hick’s mouth was agape. Slowly he shook his head.

‘God was so offended by their insufferable pride and disgraceful behaviour, their hideous facsimile of the Mass, their worship of images of horrible creatures, that He sought to punish not only them, but all Christian men. He didn’t only throw the Templars from Jerusalem, he showed his rage by taking away Jerusalem and giving it to the Moors. He allowed them to kill the unrighteous and prideful Christians, to punish them for tolerating the dreadful evil of the Templars. They cost us Christ’s own land!’

The priest’s voice was tortured, his face suddenly sunken like a man about to die, and he cast his eyes up to the altar, making the sign of the cross as his eyes filled with tears. It made Hick feel guilty and scared, to think that he had brought this depression to the priest – but he recoiled when he caught sight of the other man’s features again.

Father Abraham leaned forward and pointed a finger which shook with conviction.

‘The Templars were and are cursed. They lost us the Holy Land because of their execrable activities, even though they started as a religious Order. They sank to the depths, just as you have started to. If you befoul the church with your degenerate activities, you will deserve the same terrible punishment. Your soul will be dragged down to Hell to eternal damnation, where it will roast for ever! Do you want that?’

Gulping, Hick shook his head.

‘Then get out of my sight, you contemptible little man!’

Hick rose to his feet, gabbling his thanks, promising never to bring Felicity to the church again, tripping and stumbling as he made his way backwards to the door, and thence into the clean, bright sunlight.

‘Phew!’ he gasped and wiped his brow with a dirty forearm. Pulling his cheap felt hat on, he glanced up and down the street. With relief he saw that Mistress Tan’s alehouse had a small gorse bush tied over her doorway. She must have ale for sale. After the shock he had just endured, Hick needed a drink – badly.

He wasn’t quite certain what had angered the priest. Surely it couldn’t have been a natural transaction with a whore. That was normal. But something had upset him. He’d practically spat when he was talking about the Templars. Still, it wasn’t anything to worry Hick. He scratched at his groin and remembered Felicity and a certain unfinished business. Maybe Mistress Tan would be amenable to selling him something other than ale. She often would when she was hard up for cash.

Baldwin and Simon left Avicia a short time later, Jeanne joining them as they stood outside in the narrow hallway. Petronilla appeared carrying a tray and took it in for the stricken woman.

Baldwin closed the door behind her. ‘What do you think, Simon?’

‘If I had to bet, I’d say she believed what she said.’

‘So would I, but her personal opinion cannot be considered final. It could be that the shock of seeing her brother dead was enough to unbalance her humours.’

Simon agreed. It was well-known that women suffered from diseases from which men were immune. The vapours attacked women because of the noxious fumes produced in their organs. The uterus was the worst. It could prowl dangerously about the body, especially after shock. Then it could move to the chest, where it caused diseases in the heart and lungs, and only by burning foul-smelling things beneath the poor woman’s nose could a physician or midwife force it to move away.

Both men knew this, and they glanced covertly at Jeanne, who stood eyeing them with folded arms. ‘Well?’ she demanded imperiously. When neither answered, she snorted, spun on her heel and re-joined Petronilla and Avicia.

Simon took a deep breath. ‘I suppose she could think she’s telling the truth. Does that get us anywhere?’

‘The Coroner has declared the result of his inquest.’

‘So what’s the point of chewing on the same old bone?’

‘There is something wrong with all this. Dyne could not have killed the knight and the dog. He was too feeble. The dog alone would have tested him.’

‘He had the knight’s purse,’ Simon reminded Baldwin.

‘Yes, but if he found the knight dead, he would have taken it. An outlaw, not knowing where his pennies could come from would be bound to snatch a dead man’s purse.’

‘That was his fault. He should never have been off the road.’

‘Oh, Simon, really! Think about it: he’d been passed once by Carter and Lovecok – what were they doing out there? Obviously they were looking for revenge, and Dyne knew it. He realised he must get off the road if he wanted to live. If he was so determined to run away, why was it William and the dogs saw or smelled him for much of the day?’

Simon mused. ‘Perhaps the dogs saw someone else?’

‘That is a thought. My God! Simon, you’re right. Of course there was someone else there!’

‘Eh?’

‘Raches! They hunt by scent, not sight: the dog ran after whoever was there, following along his trail and, as soon as the dog caught the man, he ran it through with his sword.’

‘Baldwin,’ Simon said patiently, ‘Dyne didn’t have a sword.’

‘Precisely.’ Baldwin stared into the distance, his face hardening as his conviction grew. ‘Simon, there has been a great injustice here. That fellow Dyne was too scared to carry on along the road, so he hurried to the woods for safety, where he was slaughtered. And he is to be blamed for killing Sir Gilbert.’

‘I don’t care about that,’ Simon said pragmatically. ‘Dyne was a felon. He deserved his end. It’s no injustice if a felon is killed.’

‘Rubbish! Consider the reverse: Dyne could not have killed Sir Gilbert and the dog. That means someone else did, and that someone will get away with murder unless we can stop him. A felon is escaping justice.’