Michael JECKS - The Traitor of St Giles

‘So? What of it?’

‘He murdered Joan so that she couldn’t tell of his incest.’

Father Abraham rose and walked to the altar. Kneeling before it, his mind worked furiously as he considered. If it was true that the merchant had carried on an incestuous affair with his step-daughter, he was guilty of a crime and deserved to be punished. Yet if he truly was guilty, then Avicia was quite correct and her brother had been killed wrongly – which meant that Andrew Carter was guilty of murder, and Nicholas his brother must surely be guilty of conspiracy.

It was a difficult matter and the priest had to remain on his knees for some considerable time while he thought through it all. If only it was as straightforward as the Knight Templar; that man’s guilt was known, was confirmed by the Pope himself, the leader of all the world’s Christians, more powerful and important than any king. Templars were condemned, excommunicate. They were anathema: accursed; consigned to perdition for all time. Sir Gilbert was an example of the most loathsome of mankind, a man who resorted to devil-worship for his own benefit.

At last he stood, grimacing as his arthritic joints complained. ‘You have made serious allegations. Before we go anywhere, I want you to swear to me that you are telling the truth. Come!’ He led them to the great book where it sat on its own pedestal. ‘Here, put your hand on the Gospels and swear it is the truth.’

He watched carefully while the two women made their oaths. ‘Very well,’ he sighed. ‘Let us seek the Coroner.’

Simon and Baldwin sat a while longer when Harlewin had left them. Baldwin’s head was gradually returning to normal under the influence of the strong Bordeaux wine, and his belly felt pleasantly numb, if a little acidic. Simon had ordered a pie and consumed it quickly, but Baldwin didn’t feel well enough yet to try the roasted coffins of gristle and offal that a place like this would offer strangers to the town.

‘Are we any closer to some answers?’ Simon asked as he settled back and began to pick his teeth.

‘It would appear not, but I think we are learning much.’

‘Such as?’

‘We had thought that there were only the two men, Andrew Carter and Nicholas Lovecok, out there when Sir Gilbert and Dyne died. Now we know that not only were Harlewin and his woman there, but Matilda, Sherman and the priest, as well as Sir Peregrine.’

‘And the knight’s man.’

‘I hardly think we need consider him. He’s dead.’

‘Now we know there was possibly money involved, I think we have to look at him again. Where is the money?’

‘You mean William could have stolen it?’

‘Of course. And if he did, perhaps he hid it out there near the scene of the murder.’

‘You are wrong.’

Simon blinked at his friend. Baldwin sat thoughtfully, but there was no uncertainty on his face. He was quite convinced that he knew the truth. ‘How do you know?’ Simon asked.

‘Because Sir Gilbert wouldn’t have taken the money with him to town, neither would he have left it in William’s hands. I believe he went off that evening before he died and hid it himself.’

‘Where?’

‘I am a fool. The priest told me when I spoke to him. I will take you there, if you wish,’ Baldwin said and finished his wine.

Father Abraham knocked on the Coroner’s door and waited. Soon a manservant appeared and took the three of them to the Coroner’s hall.

‘Father – what can I do for you?’ Harlewin asked curtly. He had not long returned, and wished only for peace. He recognised Avicia by sight and studied her with a frank interest that made her redden with embarrassment, and she let her head fall so that she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. Felicity, however, smiled broadly when he winked at her. He had been, and would probably be again, a good client. She couldn’t hold a grudge about Emily’s inquest, even if she preferred the gentle Sir Peregrine.

‘Carter,’ Father Abraham snapped sharply, having noticed Harlewin’s greeting to Felicity.

‘What of him?’ Harlewin asked, calling for wine and sitting. His grin faded as he listened, his eyes hardening, and when the priest finished, saying, ‘And these two women have sworn on the Gospels that all this is true,’ the Coroner glanced at Felicity.

She nodded. ‘I swear it on my soul.’

‘You mean that this bastard raped the girl he was supposed to protect, then murdered her to keep her silence? The sodomite !’

‘Worse than that,’ Father Abraham continued. He was feeling ill with horror at the terrible allegations made by Felicity and supported by Avicia. ‘He enlisted the aid of his brother-in-law to kill Philip Dyne.’

Harlewin hesitated. Even in the midst of his anger he could think clearly. ‘I think that Nicholas is innocent. He was as convinced as you and I over Dyne’s guilt. Damn Carter! Yet the lad confessed before us all, didn’t he? Why should we think he was lying?’

‘It is Felicity’s evidence that raises the suspicion,’ Father Abraham said.

The wine arrived and Harlewin threw his head back, emptying his pot at a gulp. ‘Then let’s go and confront the bastard!’

He picked up his sword belt and tied it on before leading the trio up the road towards the merchant’s house. Father Abraham halted.

‘Are you well, Father?’ Harlewin asked. The older man was waxen and faltering in his steps.

‘I am shocked by all this. I… I find it hard to believe, yet I must believe it.’ Such a hideous sequence of actions was difficult to absorb. The priest had never liked Carter, but to think that he could have killed his own daughter! And after committing incest with her, too. ‘I shall meet you at Carter’s house. I have to return to the church for a moment.’ He needed the solace that only the Gospels could give him. Perhaps he could clear his mind while praying. Prepare himself to meet Carter.

‘Very well, Father. We shall see you there,’ Harlewin said and continued on.

They missed Nicholas, who was at that moment climbing aboard a sturdy rounsey, and as the door was opened for them, Nicholas trotted off towards the castle, westwards, before taking the road to Withleigh, thence to Templeton.

‘I want your master,’ Harlewin rasped when the door finally opened.

‘He’s not here, sir.’

‘Then we’ll wait.’

It was after noon when Simon and Baldwin returned to the castle. They went straight to the stables and ordered their horses prepared. While they waited, Simon irritably tapping his foot, Baldwin sent a servant to see if his wife had yet returned. The man was soon back, shaking his head, and Baldwin nodded and turned to watch the grooms saddling his mount.

‘Sir Baldwin? Sir Baldwin, I must speak to you,’ Wat whispered.

‘What are you doing here? Have you been drinking?’ Baldwin asked, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of his cattleman’s son’s pinched, anxious features. He was about to crouch and sniff at Wat’s breath when the lad’s next words made him stop.

‘Sir, I heard men saying they’d attack you. They said they would go for you first,’ Wat said.

‘And they did. Where was this?’

Wat glanced about him. ‘Here in the yard, sir. They said you’d hit them and they wanted their revenge; said they’d kill both of you, Sir Baldwin.’

Simon glanced at Baldwin. ‘They said we’d hit them? That must mean they were talking after the ambush. They intend to kill us.’

‘So it would seem. Did you see them, Wat?’

‘Yes. They are men from the castle here. I don’t know whose.’

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. The knight was the first to speak. ‘Can you see them now?’

‘No, sir. I think they went back to the buttery.’