The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) Read online

  ‘You went with him?’

  ‘When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw him struggling with someone. I screamed, I think, and …’ Her face had lost its composure now, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out over her brow. She lowered her face, and Baldwin was instantly reminded of an actor he had once seen, pretending a display of grief. His mistrust of the woman grew.

  ‘Continue, lady.’

  ‘I saw them fight. I saw a dagger,’ she said, but her eyes wouldn’t meet his. ‘And then my husband collapsed like a pole-axed calf. Straight down on the floor.’ The body had lain there like a wretched felon’s. At first she had wondered, but then she saw that although his eyes appeared to be staring at her they were unfocused, their ire directed towards someone else she couldn’t see. ‘He was dead.’

  ‘Who else saw this fight?’

  ‘My little Cecily. Arthur, my son, had covered his head, I think. He saw or heard nothing, or so he says. He is terribly young. Only four years old.’

  ‘And your daughter?’

  ‘She is nine.’

  ‘Your husband told us of the man Webber who entered your house at night. He has been doing this for long?’

  ‘Six years or so.’

  ‘And in all that time you’ve been living in fear of him?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  Baldwin and Sir Peregrine exchanged a glance. Sir Peregrine was frankly surprised. Baldwin said, ‘But your husband told us that he feared this man. So what had changed? Why be afraid of him now?’

  She shook her head obstinately. ‘I don’t know why Daniel was more worried recently.’

  ‘Has there been a suggestion that Estmund Webber is suddenly more dangerous?’

  She shook her head again. ‘No.’

  ‘Daniel must have had some reason for his suspicion of him, surely?’ Sir Peregrine asked more gently.

  ‘I … I don’t know.’

  ‘Come, woman, he must have had cause to fear something,’ Baldwin said. ‘And he was right, too, wasn’t he? Someone must have warned him of some danger!’

  She said nothing, but her eyes filled with tears again and she looked away.

  Baldwin studied her for a few moments. ‘Tell me, good lady. Who could have wanted your man dead? Did he have many enemies?’

  ‘Of course he did! He was an officer. Do you think you have none?’

  Baldwin smiled at her sudden outburst. It was true enough that any man who spent his days capturing law-breakers and seeing to their accusation and conviction would inevitably earn himself adversaries who would be glad to see him removed. Daniel was no different from any other in this. ‘So you think that this attacker in the night was a man who bore your husband a grudge?’

  His words brought her head round as though their import suddenly struck at her. ‘“Grudge”? Why do you call it that? No, there was nothing like that!’

  Baldwin hesitated. He had been in situations like this before, when a careless choice of words had led to an unexpected retort. Her reaction was not that of a woman who was following the same line of thought as his own. He had meant only that an officer of the law would know people who might have had reason to want to revenge themselves upon him. Baldwin knew of three men whose brother or father had been executed as a result of his own enquiries, and he was always alert to the possibility of an attack from them. Surely Daniel had similar contacts who could desire his death – such as friends of the old man who had died when Daniel struck him on the head.

  But she was not thinking of that when she responded. No, she had the shock of a new idea in her mind, unless he was much mistaken: an idea that horrified her. He wondered what it might be.

  It had always been intended to be a moderately quiet affair. There was little need for a ceremony full of pomp and nonsense. John had already seen that Guibert didn’t want that, and he was sure that Sir William would have preferred a solemn, calm funeral without any fuss. After all, he had been strongly swayed by John’s preaching, and the language John had used about the failings of modern life had influenced Sir William to the end.

  Sir William had been a brave man when he was younger, of course. His youth had been spent as a pilgrim in the Holy Land, earning himself a reward in Heaven. Any man who exiled himself on pilgrimage would be renewed, but one who travelled to the land of Christ Himself and fought to protect it from the heathen would win a plenary indulgence. Provided that he had already confessed his sins, all would be forgiven, not only on earth, but in Purgatory as well. It was a promise made long ago by Pope Urban at Clermont. There was no guarantee of an automatic place in Heaven, of course. No, that was up to God’s divine grace, and no man could be entirely certain of it. But if a man had faith and behaved honourably, there was no reason to suspect that he might be refused.

  Some, of course, thought that they could escape the trap and live well here on earth and still win a place. That was why preachers like John spent so much time explaining the truth. When a man died, it was not the end. The body which had housed a man’s soul was, when dead, merely the abode of the worms which fed on his decaying flesh. In fact John was rather proud of one line of preaching he had used effectively, which described how the fatter a man’s body was, the more flames would be needed to burn him in Hell. An eternity of pain awaited those who gluttonously fed themselves vastly more than they truly needed, while the starved and scrawny would suffer less.

  Sir William had paid attention to that, certainly. From the weight of his coffin, there was little left of him but skin and bone. Poor old fellow. In truth John would miss him. He had grown quite fond of Sir William of Hatherleigh.

  And now the body was under the hearse, the candles were lighted, and the wintry sun was lancing in through the windows, making the dust dance like tiny angels. It was the sort of day that any man would be proud to be buried on.

  There was a shout from the doorway, and a gasp from the assembled friars. John felt a cold terror suddenly grip his soul, and he was too petrified to turn and face this imminent danger. It was all he could do to glance at Prior Guibert.

  The old man stood facing the altar with a distant smile on his face as a ringing clatter of weapons began to batter at the chapel’s door. He was still for a long while, and then his hand rose and stroked his pate.

  Baldwin and Sir Peregrine left the woman and stood in the street for a short time, arguing.

  ‘She is clearly highly distressed, Sir Baldwin. Your questioning was at best impertinent when the woman was so distraught.’

  ‘She was as collected as a queen. There was no obvious pain there, man,’ Baldwin snapped. ‘If you want to seek justice for her and her husband, you must allow me to question as I see fit.’

  ‘I will not have you upsetting the recently widowed for no purpose.’

  ‘“No purpose”? I wish to learn the truth!’

  ‘But not by upsetting this lady; I won’t see you do that.’

  ‘Then you are not fit to serve as Coroner! It is your duty to find any evidence that might point to the culprit so that the murderer can be captured, and the fines collected for this infringement of the King’s Peace. Your job, Coroner, is to record all relevant information.’

  ‘I do not need a Keeper to tell me my job.’

  ‘Perhaps you do. You are rather new to the position, are you not?’

  ‘You overstep yourself, Sir Baldwin!’ Sir Peregrine hissed, and there was genuine anger in his voice.

  ‘No, Sir Coroner, I do not think I do!’ Baldwin said, aware of Edgar at his side. Irritably he shook his head. ‘No, Edgar! I do not intend to fight with Sir Peregrine. Sir Coroner, this is ridiculous. The woman is widowed, yes. But she may hold information which is relevant to finding her husband’s murderer.’

  ‘You treated her like a suspect instead of a victim.’

  ‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed firmly. ‘Because I believe that she is. However, my questions were designed to establish her innocence as well as the identity of her husband’s murderer.’

&n
bsp; ‘She was perfectly clear on that point, I believe. The man, the pederast her husband spoke of, has been creeping into houses all over the city. She and her husband have seen him often enough before.’

  ‘Yes, which was itself curious, don’t you think? He’s been seen so often, and yet her evidence implies that it’s only recently that she and her husband have grown so concerned that they have bothered to protect their children from him. Does that not strike you as strange?’

  ‘There is little that surprises me about the behaviour of people,’ Sir Peregrine said.

  ‘There are times when their actions deserve further study. I must see the widow Gwen and the children.’

  ‘You cannot mean to question them too? A nine-year-old and a lad half her age?’

  Baldwin snapped, ‘No. But I’d be keen to speak to someone who knows the family, and surely the woman who offered a place to the children while their mother recovered would be such a one?’

  Sir Peregrine nodded. He was distracted, and knew it. Looking at the rising anger on Sir Baldwin’s face, he had the grace to feel ashamed. Sir Baldwin was not a well man yet, and here he was being roused by Sir Peregrine himself. ‘I am not sure what is the matter with me today, Sir Baldwin. I apologise for any offence given. It was not intended. Do you think that this man Webber has any bearing on the matter? For my part I can conceive of no other who would have had a hand in the murder.’

  ‘I can conceive of several, Sir Peregrine,’ Baldwin said. ‘First, the pederast; then any relatives of the man – Ham, was it? – whom Daniel killed the other day. And, finally, there is always the wife. No! Do not bother to rush to her defence. If she has one, we shall find it. Be that as it may, it is often the wife who kills her husband, or the husband who kills the wife, when there is a dispute in a household. Often you need look no further. Still, there are some factors which lead me away from that conclusion …’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Well, all too often when there is a killing within the family, you’ll smell plenty of ale or wine on both parties. There was very little in the room with that body. I smelled little if any on Daniel, and from the look of her, his wife was not drunk either. Her eyes showed little sign of it, only tears, and I didn’t notice the reek of sour wine about her. No, there is nothing that shows definitely that they were drinking and had a fight. Even the timing. I understand that the screams were heard very early this morning?’

  ‘The watch hurried to the hue and cry during Matins.’

  ‘So some while before dawn, then,’ Baldwin noted. Matins was celebrated before Prime, which was the dawn service at the cathedral. The murder had taken place not long after the middle of the night. ‘Not the sort of time at which a man should be walking the streets.’

  ‘No. He should have been noticed for that if nothing else.’

  ‘First, then, let us see whether there is any sign of an actual break-in at Daniel’s house,’ Baldwin said, and set off across the street to the sergeant’s home once more. ‘And then I would like to meet his little girl again.’

  ‘That would be cruel, Sir Baldwin!’ Sir Peregrine protested. ‘At least allow her some hours to recover herself and take what comfort she can from her mother.’

  Baldwin stopped and stared back the way he had come, but he didn’t see the house where Juliana sat with her children and her neighbour about her. In his mind’s eye he saw his own wife shrieking with horror beside his fallen body, his face twisted in death like Daniel’s, his blood draining as quickly from the slit throat, while his daughter Richalda screamed and wailed inconsolably.

  It was only recently that he had been near-mortally wounded. He clenched his fist and rotated his shoulder a little to ease the tension at his collarbone where the arrow had pierced him. Richalda and his wife hadn’t been there when he was hit, but he knew how they would have reacted had he died. And were a man to have arrived shortly after his death, demanding answers to questions such as the ones he had put to Juliana, how would Jeanne have felt? More: what would she have said had she heard that the same inquisitor was intending to question her darling Richalda too?

  Hopefully Jeanne would castrate the bastard, Baldwin thought.

  ‘You are right, Sir Peregrine. I shall not question the child. No, we shall come to comprehend this matter without such blunt tactics.’

  If only, he would later think, such snap judgements could be withdrawn and their consequences annulled. As it was, he took the decision with the best of intentions, little knowing that it would lead to many more deaths and much pain and suffering.

  Chapter Eight

  Guibert stood and faced the men in his doorway. ‘What is the meaning of this sacrilege?’

  ‘You’re holding a funeral in here, Prior! You know you don’t have the right without discussing it with the canons.’

  ‘Who are you? Is that Peter de la Fosse? What do you mean by this intrusion? We can bury this man in our chapel. He has made over his wealth to us already. There is nothing here for you, Canon.’

  ‘Don’t try to persuade me of that, Prior. You’ve extorted all his wealth, I have no doubt, and you’re welcome to install his body in your cloister when we have done with it, but the cathedral has the monopoly of all funerals still. That man is ours. The candles, the cloth, everything is cathedral property. You’ll relinquish it now!’

  John frowned and stared at the canon with confusion. It sounded as though Peter was himself unconvinced. He was plainly anxious, nervy, as though he feared that the friars might attack him. Well, that was unsurprising. He was guilty of an unholy intrusion.

  ‘You are performing an act of sacrilege. Leave now.’

  ‘We’ll leave when we’ve got our man!’

  Guibert’s head rose impressively on his shoulders. ‘My fellow, this is a privileged chapel. You are here without permission and in breach of the peace. Be gone!’

  ‘Prior,’ the man said, and stepped forward with a fixed stare in his fretful eyes. When closer, he snapped his fingers under the Prior’s nose. ‘I give that for your peace. You’re always making it your business to steal our funerals and preach against the cathedral and the Bishop, God bless his soul! Well, it’s all going to change now. We won’t have it any more.’

  ‘Who are “we”?’ Guibert asked mildly.

  ‘The canons. We have new blood in the chapter now, and we won’t have any more of this nonsense.’ He motioned and four sheepish-looking lay denizens of the cathedral close approached, two of them looking nervously at the Prior.

  ‘Well may you look so anxious, my sons. Today you perform the devil’s work. You are here to steal the body of a man who desired only to be left in peace after his death. When you remove him, you will take away an unhappy soul. Here he would have lain happily, content after his long life, with our prayers to speed his journey. But you are to interrupt his passage by removing him. He will haunt you for all eternity, my friends.’ Guibert shook his head sadly.

  ‘Don’t listen to him. Take the body and we’ll go. Snuff those candles and take them too.’

  The four began to blow out the candles, pulling them from their spikes and carefully placing them in sacks. One friar interposed himself, but was roughly pushed from their path. He stumbled and fell against a lattice in front of the altar, which broke, the thin dry lathes crackling dustily as he tumbled through it.

  John made as though to go and defend the priory’s property, but Guibert put out a hand when he heard his movement and gripped his shoulder. ‘No, no, John. Remain here with me,’ he said gently. ‘There is no point in argument or fighting. These ruffians are proof against all moderation.’

  The body was lifted on its bier, and John watched with his eyes glittering fiercely as it was carried towards them.

  ‘You can have him back when he’s had his funeral,’ the canon sneered. To John’s eye he was gaining in confidence now that no one stood against him. ‘And don’t try this sort of nonsense again. I’d have thought you would have learned by now that w
e won’t suffer this infringement of our rights. Our Bishop has his memory still, you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ Guibert said slyly. ‘And the ear of the King … sometimes. And at other times, he may not. Your Bishop is not long for this world, man. And his excommunication is still in place. It is sad that he has chosen to take all of you with him.’ He turned to face the approaching bier. ‘I am truly sorry, my sons. You will pay with your eternal lives for this dreadful act of violence. Striking a friar in his chapel, breaking our lattice, stealing our candles and ornaments, and taking a body in the process of his funeral … these are terrible crimes. You shall be punished. All will be excommunicate! Now, if you do not fear God, go with your trophies, but remember, no matter what penance you perform for this evil, you can never wash away the sin. You are defiled for ever.’

  John could see one of the nervous-looking men casting about towards the others, but another in front of him just sneered and spat. ‘You’re a friar, but our Bishop has more power than you! He can overrule any sentence you lay on us. You’re the ones breaking the laws, not us.’

  ‘He is right,’ said the canon. ‘Be grateful that we won’t bother to report this. Come, we must return to the cathedral to give this man his funeral. We shall keep the body in St Peter’s for a while. Come and collect him when you’re ready.’

  With a last contemptuous glance at the Prior, the man turned on his heel and followed the men carrying the body.

  ‘Prior, I am so sorry,’ John said as the great door was closed on their arrogant departure.

  ‘Sorry? For what? It is exactly what I expected, and what I wished,’ Guibert said softly. ‘Brother, now we have the cathedral where we want them.’

  Baldwin walked round the house to the window he had seen before. It had been mended haphazardly, with a patch of wood nailed over the splinter, but when he tested it with his hand it moved.