The Traitor of St. Giles Page 14

  His hopes were dashed. Sir Peregrine certainly wanted companionship in his loneliness, but the very last thing he needed was idle conversation. The death of his woman had left a pain that could not be assuaged. Since he had heard of her death he had wandered about the town, but that brought no mitigation of his suffering. Walking about and seeing how happy others were was no comfort to him. It merely added the poison of jealousy to his anguish. Toker’s words had been nothing more than an irritant, given his mood, and he had sent the man away. Stories of a London man defending himself again Toker’s boys were not important. Not now.

  Father Abraham for once recognised that chatter would be unwelcome and the two walked to the church in silence.

  Which was why they found the two of them.

  As Father Abraham opened the door, he was welcomed by the sight of Hick the rat-catcher’s hairy backside, ramming up and down as Felicity, beneath him, complained about the cold floor and entreated him to get a move on. As a scene, it was one guaranteed to send Father Abraham into a paroxysm of rage.

  At least Felicity hung her head in a show of contrition and held her tongue when Father Abraham berated her.

  ‘How dare you even think of coming here with your revolting clients!’ he thundered. ‘The . . . the shame of it! Don’t you realise that you were fouling the church itself with your disgraceful, lewd . . .’

  ‘I tried to tell her, Father,’ Hick interrupted helpfully.

  ‘Shut up, you pervert!’ Father Abraham roared.

  ‘I couldn’t take him to my rooms, not at Fair time. The landlord could have evicted me!’ Felicity protested.

  ‘That was no excuse for fornicating in my church!’

  ‘I told her you wouldn’t like it.’

  Felicity turned on Hick, hands on hips. ‘You were happy enough to come here when I suggested it.’

  ‘Only ’cos you wouldn’t go to my dwelling.’

  ‘Dwelling? Dwelling? Don’t make me laugh! The place is practically falling about your ears, and you expect me to rut on the dirt floor with you?’

  ‘It’s no worse that the floor here.’

  ‘It’s covered in filth and mud, Hick!’

  ‘Silence, the pair of you! God give me patience!’

  Sir Peregrine left them to it. The mundane little squabble was irrelevant. He had no wish to witness it, and he walked slowly over the church’s yard while he thought about his Emily. Her body, displayed like that for all the lewd-minded to see had left a bitterness in his mouth.

  He was at the picket fence when he heard the church door creak on its hinges, and, in the dim light from the candles within, he saw the girl slip out. She had rearranged her clothing and now little of her form could be discerned beneath the heavy tunic, skirts and apron. Walking swiftly, she crossed the churchyard to him.

  Under her layer of grime, he thought Felicity attractive. She had a long, slender frame with a heart-shaped face; her chin was small and the nose slightly snubbed, but her features were pleasantly regular. She approached him hesitantly.

  ‘Sir Peregrine, I was sorry about Emily.’

  ‘Thanks. I miss her.’

  ‘And the child.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed sadly, looking away. ‘That is why I am so lonely now.’

  ‘If you want comfort . . .’ she offered quietly.

  He looked at her and she continued in a rush, ‘The King has a marshall of the royal prostitutes; I see no reason why you shouldn’t make use of one.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said with a dry chuckle. And yet when he thought about it, maybe another woman would help ease the burden of pain. At least she could help him forget for a while.

  Felicity smiled at him sympathetically. She was a sharp woman: not yet twenty years old, she needed to be. Both her parents were dead, and since she had lost her job in the merchant’s house she’d endured every insult the world could fling at her, but the diminution of her social position had not decreased her intelligence.

  The knight did look miserable. Not that his troubles worried Felicity overmuch. She had her own problems to think of, and his money would come in useful.

  She could weep to think how low she had sunk, degraded and reviled by all the women who should have been her friends. Instead she was shunned – all because a certain man had raped her systematically and regularly, and then thrown her over. If there was any way to make the shame redound upon him, she would happily sell her soul to achieve it.

  Felicity eyed Sir Peregrine warily. She’d no wish to be caught working during the Fair; in fact, she’d intended leaving for the duration but she’d been held up when the Coroner oiled round, the revolting old cockscomb. He’d said he wanted information about poor Emily, but it was obvious to Felicity that he wasn’t thinking of the inquest when he stared at her breasts. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d done business with him, but not immediately after asking about Emily: that was disgusting! As if a mere whore was of no importance, had no feelings or common decency.

  It was his hypocrisy – and unintentional insult to her – which so enraged her. She told him to piss off, she wouldn’t sleep with him: he might report her. That was why, when Hick came round a little later, she had only agreed to take his money provided they went somewhere else. She didn’t want Harlewin to see her with Hick. He’d certainly have taken her in then – for accepting a shabby little man instead of him.

  But it was terrible that the priest had found her in the church with Hick. She could have screamed at the unfairness. The inquest into Emily’s death should have run on for longer and the priest shouldn’t have returned so early.

  Poor Emily. One of the few women who had been her friend, and now, almost before her body had cooled, here was Felicity chancing her luck with Emily’s lover. Sighing, she hooked her arm through Sir Peregrine’s. His face relaxed slightly in gratitude, but all she felt was loathing and self-disgust.

  Father Abraham watched Hick sweep, rage making the priest’s eyes gleam vindictively as the hapless rat-catcher plied the sexton’s broom over the floor. Before he allowed Hick to leave, the priest made him donate two pennies to the church for his attempted blasphemy.

  ‘And think yourself lucky, you heretic!’ he hissed as Hick disconsolately passed him the coins. ‘Do you have anything to confess?’

  Hick scratched at the flea-bites on his neck. It was one of the inevitable results of his trade, this constant itching. Rats held fleas, and some would always end up on their killer. ‘I don’t know, really,’ he began lamely, and then caught sight of the expression on the priest’s face. Quickly Hick knelt and began telling the history of every falsehood he had told, each covetous dream he had enjoyed and the times he had lain with Felicity when he should have been about his business or at church.

  ‘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! Evi
l 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.’

  Simon considered. ‘You’re convinced?’

  ‘Sir Gilbert was a knight and a Templar. Believe me, a weakly felon like Dyne could not have stolen his knife, could not have made a stand against man and dog, could not have stolen the purse and run. Another man did all that. A murderer.’

  ‘Then we must seek his killer,’ Simon said, but uneasily.

  ‘Something is troubling you?’

  ‘The Coroner has declared the matter is closed. If we start stirring things now . . . Well, neither of us has jurisdiction here, but the Coroner has.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Baldwin said musingly. ‘Perhaps it would be easier if we didn’t mention it to him yet.’

  ‘I think so,’ Simon agreed, frowning pensively. The Coroner removed from the issue, his mind turned to the crime itself. ‘So you think it was Carter and his brother-in-law?’

  ‘It is possible. One could have engaged the knight while the other stabbed him. But the two rode up after William saw the man in the trees. That implies someone else was also there.’

  ‘Well, surely that was Dyne?’

  ‘Maybe. But I’d have thought he’d have been making an effort to get away from the road.’

  ‘Why should someone else have been there?’

  ‘To keep an eye on Sir Gilbert?’ Baldwin mused.

  Simon stared. ‘Why should someone do that?’

  ‘Nobody trusts a stranger, Simon. Perhaps Sir Gilbert was a spy? He could have come from Despenser. There are many who would want to kill one of Despenser’s men. Or maybe he was recognised as a Templ
ar?’

  ‘Who would care about a Templar now?’

  ‘Not all Templars were entirely beyond rebuke, Simon. The Order’s goods were confiscated after the Order was crushed. Many preceptories hid their wealth against the day when they could return and claim their property, but that day never came, so some Templars took what they could and ran away with it rather than leaving it hidden, and that has given rise to some folk thinking that Templars are thieves and outlaws as well as heretics.’

  ‘Did that happen often?’

  ‘Not very often. It was mainly in the territories in the north of the realm, places where the knights could simply pocket as much as possible and ride north to Scotland. Some were more organised: the treasurer of South Witham, for example, took everything. He disappeared with a small fortune in money and gold.’

  ‘You still haven’t said who you think could have wanted to kill the knight if it wasn’t Dyne.’

  ‘I have no idea. But I think we should try to find out.’

  ‘So long as you don’t upset the Coroner. What’s your opinion of him?’

  ‘A fat fool,’ Baldwin said uncompromisingly. ‘He has little intelligence, and the little he does possess seems to be devoted to womanising and politics, from what I have heard.’

  ‘Politics seems to be a common failing of the folks here.’

  ‘No need to sound so gloomy, Simon. Think what your position would be if you were a knight like me.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Simon enquired as they walked into the hall.

  ‘A knight is no more nor less than a useful pawn. Look at me: I’m not impoverished because I have a good couple of hundred acres, but that only brings in forty-two pounds a year, and out of that I have to comply with rules governing which equipment I should bear in time of war, pay taxes, protect the people of my demesne, and uphold the law.’

  ‘Many would think that more than forty pounds a year would be a good living,’ Simon observed with a smile

  ‘Would they? When a destrier alone can reach over a hundred pounds? And every few years the King demands that all his knights get new armour or weaponry, and the weapons ranged against us improve so we need stronger armour than before, and all to be paid from our own pocket!’