Michael JECKS - The Traitor of St Giles

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. The Coroner was quite right. They had no jurisdiction – Harlewin had full authority in this matter unless they could appeal him for incompetence or corruption.

Simon smiled soothingly. ‘We don’t want to step on your toes, but–’

‘ Balls , Bailiff, if you’ll pardon the expression. You want to look into it because you think I took someone’s money.’ Harlewin scowled, but then gave a short sigh. ‘Oh, very well. I daresay an order to you both to leave the matter would have as much impact as telling Father Abraham to leave wine alone.’

Baldwin smiled and ran a finger round the rim of his pot. ‘Did you mean the good Father Abraham was taking bribes?’

‘Can you call it a bribe when he never intended to do anything for the money? I suppose if I hadn’t agreed to release Dyne, he would have told them that I had behaved dishonourably, but what could he do? I had taken the money and then failed to comply with their wishes. Disgraceful!’ He laughed. ‘I can hear the old hypocrite saying it!’

Simon still looked doubtful. ‘You mean you never take bribes?’

‘Bailiff, I know all Coroners are tarred with the brush that says they are corrupt as hell, but I seem to recall hearing that all bailiffs are thieves as well. Does that make you a felon?’

‘A good point,’ Baldwin grinned. ‘So the worthy priest is taking money. That puts an interesting slant on things. Tell me, how do you find him?’

‘He’s a fool. Full of himself, and likes the chink of coins in his purse, but he’s a good clerk. Keeps the Coroner’s Rolls neatly. What more can I say? He charges too much from people for writing up his notes, but many clerks do. Beyond that, he doesn’t like little boys, which is good in a priest, and doesn’t go whoring after any wench in a skirt, which makes him rare. But he will go on at people who fail in his eyes, which can be tedious.’

‘He often rails at you? Baldwin guessed.

Harlewin raised a pot and smiled.

‘What for? Women?’

‘How did you guess?’

‘How many obvious failings are there?’ Baldwin wondered aloud. He had not altered his original opinion of the Coroner as fat and foolish, but he had to admit to himself that Harlewin had a certain charm about him. Baldwin could see how some women could be attracted to the man.

Harlewin finished his pot and topped it up.

‘How was your corpse last night?’ Simon enquired.

‘Bailiff, the man effected a wonderful recovery. He had been bruised badly on his forehead and everyone thought he’d been hit by a club, but it happens he came to and declared he’d walked into a door while drunk. Clumsy, but no need for a Coroner.’

‘So you returned immediately?’ Baldwin pressed him.

‘No, Sir Knight. It was out on my lands towards Withleigh, and I thought I’d rest there the night. There seemed little point making the journey back here in the dark.’

Baldwin had to smile at the man’s confidence. It was plain as the nose on his face that he was lying, for only the death of an important man would justify the Coroner’s leaving his lord’s feast. The corpse would still be there in the morning, and yet Harlewin had jumped up from the table as soon as the message had arrived. Only an obvious corpse would justify sending a messenger in the middle of the night, and yet this man had apparently leaped to his feet as soon as Harlewin arrived. There was no point in sending to verify the tale – Harlewin had said as much by letting them know the fellow was from his own estate. ‘I am glad he recovered. Naturally if someone was to go and check his wound they would find him badly bruised?’

Harlewin grinned but said nothing.

It was with a feeling of intense relief that Father Abraham heard the bells ring; he could now decently leave the house. Rising, he made his apologies to John Sherman, who scarcely paid him any heed, he was so deeply involved in a talk about Mediterranean wines and how to acquire them safely when Venetian galleys kept raiding shipping.

Walking to the door, the priest was about to leave when he felt a tug at his sleeve, and found Cecily Sherman at his side.

‘Are you leaving so soon, Father?’

‘I have much to do for the next service.’

‘Oh, don’t be so formal, Father.’

‘How do you expect me to behave with a woman who has blackmailed me?’

She chuckled. ‘Come, now. It’s nothing too dangerous, is it? And if your conscience gives you trouble, why, remind it that I would have been forced to suffer indignities and pain if you hadn’t backed up my story.’

‘You forced me to lie ! You threatened to tell everyone otherwise.’

‘About your taking the knight’s horse? Yes, well, I hardly think that’s blackmail. I only pointed out that I should have reported your theft, after all.’

He glared at her. She was plump and attractive, but at this moment all he could see was how slender her throat looked. If he had the courage he would put out his hands and grasp it.

She continued, ‘And if everyone would then think, “Aha! so it was Father Abraham who killed the knight,” that would hardly be my fault.’

‘I didn’t kill him!’

‘No? Well, you have to admit it looks rather suspicious.’ She patted his cheek, smiled, and whirled around to return to the hall.

‘God forgive me, but I hate that bitch!’ Father Abraham hissed under his breath as he walked from the door and into the street. From here he could see his church, and he hurried to it, his steps given more urgency by his loathing of the woman behind. Only when he was almost at the gate to his yard did he slow, forcing himself to breathe more evenly and calmly.

At the church’s door he heard voices, and he paused, listening. After a moment he frowned and entered.

‘Felicity? And Avicia Dyne – what are you doing in here?’ he thundered.

‘So you weren’t seeing Cecily Sherman last night?’ Simon enquired mildly.

Harlewin choked on his drink. ‘Christ’s Bones! Who on earth…?’

‘We’ve been told you were with her the night Sir Gilbert died,’ Simon continued imperturbably. ‘That is why, it was put to us, you decided to murder Dyne – because you were womanising with Joan Carter, and something went wrong. You killed her to hide your rape, and arrested Dyne to conceal your crime.’

‘Me? Me rape her? Good God, man, do you realise what you’re saying? She was pleasant enough, but I wouldn’t have touched her – she was little better than a servant.’

‘John Sherman said you were in Earl Thomas’s pay,’ Baldwin mentioned as if idly.

‘I have helped him on occasion.’

‘For money?’ Simon pressed.

‘No! Anyway, what of Sherman? He’s not the most reliable man, you know. He keeps false measures. If officers go to check on him, he hides his bad ones in a compartment under his floor and shows only the good ones.’

Baldwin was not interested. ‘That is hardly our concern. Tell the Fair’s court. More important is that people have said you had Dyne confess so that your own crime would remain concealed and, when you could, you released him so that he could be killed by the girl’s father.’

Harlewin stared, then made a weak gesture. ‘You’ve certainly listened to a lot of gossip. All I can say is, it’s rubbish. I didn’t touch the girl. To be frank, Cecily Sherman has taken up my spare time lately, and when she wasn’t available, there was always Felicity or another prostitute in the town. I never had reason to hurt a woman who didn’t want me.

‘As for this stuff about Dyne – I didn’t arrest the sod, he escaped! He ran to sanctuary as soon as he realised he was being sought. I spoke to him there, but that was all. It’s my duty to speak to a felon claiming sanctuary, to ask them to surrender to arrest, but he refused. Said he knew he’d never get a fair trial.’