Simon Beaufort - Murder in the Holy City

“Come on, lad,” said Roger, standing up suddenly. “If your wits are failing you, mine are still working. It is obvious where we go next. Hugh thinks the scroll from Brother Salvatori is hidden in Akira’s house. He will be searching there for a while, because obviously we have it here. If we hurry, we might catch him in the act. And who knows, perhaps we can talk some sense into him.”

There was no point in using horses to reach Akira’s shop. The streets in that part of the city were too narrow, and it would only take a lumbering cart, or an uncooperative rider, to block their passage completely. Clad in half-armour-light chain-mail shirt and leather leggings-Geoffrey set off on foot, confident that he could make better time running than Hugh could make on horseback. Hugh, like most knights, never walked when he could ride.

Roger yanked at the bar on the gate, while Geoffrey fretted impatiently.

“Off somewhere nice?” came a silky enquiry at his shoulder. Geoffrey saw that Courrances was watching their movements carefully, his sharp, clever mind considering what they might mean.

“The most salubrious establishment in the city,” replied Geoffrey, breaking away from Courrances to run after Roger, “Akira’s meat emporium.” The black-robed Hospitaller thoughtfully watched him dash away.

People scattered as the knights ran through the narrow streets. Geoffrey heard an outraged howl and saw that Roger had rushed into a fruit barrel, and oranges were rolling in every direction; a few were crushed by Geoffrey running behind, but many more stolen by quick-fingered children. Roger, ahead of him, was unfaltering, and made his way purposefully toward the butchers’ alleys. Eventually, they skidded to a halt at the corner of the butchers’ street. There was no sign of Hugh’s horse, and the street looked deserted. Breathing heavily, they walked cautiously down the road and looked into Akira’s shop.

Inside, the floor was still dark with the stains of his trade, and the flies and maggots still feasted. Except that this time, Akira had joined the ranks of the victims and hung from one of the hooks in the ceiling, slowly rotating this way and that. Geoffrey started to lean back against the wall in defeat, but thought better of it when he saw the splattered blood. Roger surged past, his sword in his hand, and thundered up the stairs.

“Empty,” he said, returning a few moments later. “And now Hugh will know I tricked him. Nothing could be hidden up there. It is bare.”

Geoffrey walked over to the dangling corpse, and looked up at it.

“Help me, Roger!” he said urgently, sheathing his sword, and grabbing Akira’s legs. “He is still alive!”

Roger lowered the hook on its chain, while Geoffrey supported the greasy bundle that was Akira. The rope, Geoffrey realised, had been passed under Akira’s arms, not round his neck as Geoffrey had supposed, and Akira’s feet were swollen, so he must have been hanging there for quite some time. The butcher began to regain consciousness.

“Whoreson!” he muttered.

“Ingrate!” retorted Geoffrey.

Akira forced his bloodshot eyes open, and fixed them blearily on Geoffrey.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said in tones far from friendly. “What are you doing here?”

“We came to see if a friend of ours was visiting,” said Geoffrey. “But what about you? Will you live? Shall I send for a physician?”

Akira struggled into a sitting position and reached out a bloodstained hand to grab Geoffrey’s shoulder. Geoffrey winced at the powerful aroma of old garlic that wafted into his face.

“You must tell the Patriarch that they tried to murder poor Akira,” he moaned.

“I will indeed,” said Geoffrey, trying to extricate himself from Akira’s powerful grip. “I am sure he will be deeply shocked to hear of your accident.”

“Accident!” snorted Akira, shifting his hold on Geoffrey’s shoulder to one that was stronger yet. “They tried to kill me. Not even quickly like that poor monk, but slowly.”

“Who?” asked Geoffrey absently, racking his brain to think of places Hugh might go.

“Maria and her vile lover. Adam is his name.”

Geoffrey was puzzled. “It was not Sir Hugh of Monreale who did this to you?”

Akira snorted. “If you mean that skinny, fair-haired knight, he was here before you, but didn’t even pause to see if I was alive. And you,” he said, turning suddenly and fixing Roger with a baleful eye, “didn’t heed Akira’s pitiful calls when you came to arrest that treacherous whore.”

“I thought you had arrested her inside the house,” said Geoffrey to Roger.

Roger shook his great head. “Outside. She was about to enter, but I got her outside. I do not like the smell of this place very much. No offence,” he added to Akira.

Akira, using Geoffrey as a crutch, heaved himself up and lunged on unsteady legs to his stool near the window.

“Why did Maria do this to you?” Geoffrey asked.

“Oh, she hates old Akira,” said the butcher in a nasal whine. “She told me last night, when I was hanging there like a trussed goat, that she wanted me to be blamed for these vile murders. She wanted to pay me back.” He began to weep crocodile tears, and Geoffrey sensed the war of attrition between the wily old butcher and his scheming daughter had been waged over many years, and that no love was lost between them. Akira’s false tears now were probably aimed to make the knights feel sorry for him and leave him some money.

Akira continued his sorrowful tale. “But those priests were kind, and didn’t arrest old Akira when I found Brother Pius in my shop. Then yesterday, that Maria says she’s leaving the city with her lover. Adam.”

Geoffrey wondered whether it was Adam or Maria who had led the other to betray family and friends. Maria had tried to kill her father and had tried to implicate him and Melisende in the murders; meanwhile, Adam was a Greek spying on his own community under Melisende’s command. What a pair!

“She brung me cakes once,” said Akira, blubbering with self-pity, “but when I gives one to old Joseph, he dropped down dead. So, she’s tried to kill me before!”

“Old Joseph?” queried Geoffrey, hoping this was not another priest or knight.

“My cat!” wailed Akira, fresh tears welling down his cheeks. “I tried hard with Maria. But after all I did, she still finds me repulsive!”

Really? thought Geoffrey, unable to stop himself glancing at the sordid room and its shabby inhabitant, I wonder why? But if Maria had sent poisoned cakes to her father, she had probably also sent them to Dunstan. Melisende, it appeared, was blameless for that part of the mystery after all. And with sickening clarity, Geoffrey suddenly realized exactly how Maria had done it. Marius had smuggled whores into the scriptorium on Thursdays, and the one Alain loved was called Mary. It was probably Maria, and she had left the cakes for Dunstan at the same time. And sweet old Father Almaric, who had given Maria the scroll addressed to Brother Salvatori from the Advocate, was the same trusted associate of the Patriarch who had recommended Maria to Melisende!

“Is this making any sense to you, lad?” asked Roger, rubbing at his head tiredly. “Because I am flummoxed!”

“That does not surprise me in the slightest,” came the soft voice they knew so well from the doorway. Geoffrey whirled round, his sword already out of its scabbard, but Hugh had two archers with their bows at the ready at his side and Geoffrey faltered. Hugh saw his hesitation and nodded. “You are wise to be cautious, Geoffrey. I have come too far to be stopped now, and if you make the slightest move toward me, these men are under instruction to kill you.”

Geoffrey felt sick. So far, the notion of Hugh’s treachery had been a distant thing, something with which he had not yet had to come to terms. Now, Hugh was standing in front of him, threatening to kill him as easily as he had killed the Bedouin child in the desert.