31 - City of Fiends (12 page)

Combe Street

Joan, the young maid at the Paffards’ house, was the first witness, since she had discovered the body. The Coroner stood at the side of his clerk and asked her what had
happened on the fateful Saturday evening.

‘I just tripped over her head. I didn’t see her down in the alley. There was no light there. She was just lying there, and I fell over her. I couldn’t help it.’

‘Ah! Did you trip over her face? Perhaps you bruised her lips in the way Sir Baldwin noted?’

‘I don’t know. I just couldn’t see in the dark, else I’d have seen to avoid her.’

‘Yes, quite,’ the Coroner said patronisingly.

‘May I ask a question?’ Baldwin said.

Joan liked the look of this knight. He was neat and precise in his manner, and when he fixed his dark eyes upon her, she felt as though he could see right into her soul. Not in a nasty way, not
like Henry Paffard, nor accusingly, but with sympathy, like he understood what she was going through, standing here with all the men staring at her like she was a murderer just because she had
found poor Alice.

‘Maid, you worked with Alice. Were you friends?’

‘Yes. It’s hard to live in the same room and not get close.’

‘Was she in love? Girls will talk of their men, I know. Did she confide in you about any man in particular?’

‘No. Not at all,’ Joan said. Alice had never said anything about her lover. There had been no need.

‘She had no one?’

‘She wouldn’t have betrayed the master,’ Joan said primly, face reddening.

‘That is curious,’ Baldwin said, and she could not help glancing at the master. Henry Paffard was watching her, his face devoid of emotion. She couldn’t tell whether he was
pleased or angry.

‘Another question,’ Baldwin said, drawing her attention back to him. ‘Why were you walking along that alley? It is very unpleasant there for a young woman as the light fades.
Surely you would have been better served to use the front door?’

‘It’s just a rule of the household that servants will enter the house by the rear door,’ she told him.

‘I see,’ was all Baldwin said, but the look he gave Henry Paffard was as black as thunder.

Edith’s House, St Pancras Lane

Simon had woken to the sound of his grandson bawling his head off, and he rolled over in his bed to listen with a smile on his face.

It was good to wake in a real bed again, and better still to know that he was here with his daughter’s family, safe with people he loved.

He rose and dressed, making his way to the hall.

‘Good morning, Father. You slept well.’

‘Yes.’

‘I wasn’t asking! I could hear your snoring through the floor!’

‘I didn’t keep you awake, did I?’ Simon said, crouched beside the cot in which his grandson was lying, his face red as he opened his mouth for another bellow of rage.
‘Your mother is unkind to your old grandpa, isn’t she?’

Edith laughed and offered him some meat and bread to break his fast. Simon knew that she was showing off, but he accepted with alacrity. Soon he was sitting at the table, a pewter plate filled
with honeyed larks and slabs of fresh cheese before him, and a goblet of wine at his side.

‘You do yourselves well here,’ he commented, sucking the meat from a lark’s thigh.

‘Peter hopes to be accepted into the Freedom of the City,’ Edith said.

‘I never thought to hear my daughter with such a smug tone!’

‘I’m not smug, Father. Just proud, that’s all.’

‘Aye – proud as a popinjay! I am very happy for you, Edith.’

He was. From here, he could see the tapestries on the walls, the picture at the far end of the chamber. She had a better house than he, by far. His room last night was a separate chamber beneath
their solar, and this hall was huge compared to his own, the screens decorated with emblems of the city. Much money had been expended on the place from the days when it was owned by Edith’s
father-in-law, Charles, and he and his wife had left it for Edith and Peter when they had their new house built near the Guild Hall. It was only natural that she should be proud of all she had
acquired.

‘When do you expect Sir Baldwin to arrive?’ she asked.

‘Hmm? Oh, not late. I daresay he is still having some discussions at the Cathedral,’ Simon said.

The light tone did not reflect his mood. It was still uppermost in his mind that there would be consequences flowing from the escape of Sir Edward of Caernarfon, and that was a source of grave
concern to him.

He had no idea how this was going to affect him – and his family.

Combe Street

Baldwin glanced at Sir Reginald. He did not wish to take over the inquest, but the Coroner gestured assent, so he continued, looking at Joan. ‘Maid, did you see a man near
here that night?’

‘Yes. A priest,’ she said.

‘Where?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Out in the road there,’ she said, and explained how she had hidden, fearful of encountering a man so late.

Baldwin glanced over his shoulder. The Coroner was looking up at the sky, measuring the sun, and Baldwin thanked the girl for her evidence then stepped back to Sir Richard’s side.

‘I find that this maid Alice was killed by a man unknown,’ the Coroner began, and read through the facts of the case. ‘The knife which killed her was a knife worth about one
shilling and sixpence. I shall enrol that as deodand. Is there anyone here to present Englishry on this maid? No? Then I will impose the Murdrum fine. You, Joan, must attend the court when this
affair is brought before the judges. Your master must pay sureties to my clerk here. Also, the families nearest must also be attached: Roger Avice, Bydaud de Coyntes, Master Philip Marsille, and
Henry Paffard. You are all attached to attend the court. Pay your sureties too.’

‘There! That’s all done with,’ Sir Richard said with contentment. ‘We should find a tavern and buy a little wine or ale.’

‘There is one more thing I should like to know, first,’ Baldwin said. He walked over to Paffard’s apprentice, Benjamin, as the jury and witnesses began to disperse.
‘Master, Joan said that after she found the body, you were next into the alley. Is that correct?’

‘Yes, me and our bottler, John. Joan was in a terrible state, screaming and screaming – there was nothing I could do or say that would calm her, but John managed to get her away and
into the house.’

‘I see. It was strange that she should be walking about the city so late.’

‘John sent her to buy some bread.’

Baldwin looked at the man he pointed out. John was a little older than Baldwin himself. He was not tall, and stooped, which made him look even shorter. He had thick white hair, but dark brows
that looked curiously out of place. He was dressed in a thin woollen tunic of dark brown, with a white chemise beneath. A broad black belt was bound at his waist, a purse, keys and a dagger hanging
from it.

‘You sent her?’

‘We needed bread for the servants’ meal.’

‘I see. What of Alice? Who last saw her?’

‘She was well enough that evening. She was there when the master left for the Cock with his family,’ John said.

‘All the family?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did she do after that?’

‘I don’t know. I was in the buttery, after sending Joan for the bread, and then the apprentice and I met for a mazer of ale in the yard later, and we were there when we heard
Joan’s screams.’

Baldwin nodded. A short way away, he saw Paffard. The merchant was tall, with rather gaunt features. There were lines about his face and brow, but his brown eyes looked clear and steady.

Just now he looked like a man who had been insulted. In fact, he had the demeanour of a felon who had narrowly escaped the rope, but who felt that an inquest into his behaviour was
unreasonable.

Seeing Baldwin’s eye on him, he turned abruptly and strode away.

‘What is it?’ Sir Richard asked, seeing Baldwin’s expression.

‘Probably nothing. He has lost a maid. It is a disturbing event for a man. But his manner is curious, nonetheless.’

Road east of Exeter

Ulric watched Sir Charles drop from his horse and study the land closely with one of the two archers who were always close by him. The rest of the cavalcade remained on their
horses, chatting among themselves.

He had nothing to talk about with them. Yesterday, in the church, he had seen them . . . Those scenes wouldn’t fade. The women, pulled from their children and forced to the ground while
the men took their pleasure, the children squealing in terror, men gritting their teeth and watching with despair on their faces, until one man, a tall, grey-haired fellow of perhaps fifty summers,
launched himself at the nearest guard.

The guard was a weasel-faced fellow with a cast in his eye, who had been watching the nearest woman’s torment with a grin of anticipation, and didn’t expect an attack. He fell under
a blow from a fist like a block of timber, and his dagger and sword were snatched up in an instant.

A shout, a scream as the sword was thrust in a man’s chest, then a roar of fury as the old man lunged at Sir Charles’s second archer. The man side-stepped like an acrobat, and the
sword missed him. A second guard sprang to his side, and the desperate man was forced to block both their weapons while the rest of the menfolk watched, held back by a ring of steel.

When a woman screamed, it was enough. There was a general movement by all the men in that church to break free of their captors, and Ulric watched as they leaped upon the weapons hemming them
in. He saw the young men nearer Sir Charles gripping his sword with their bare hands, trying to yank it free of the knight’s grip even as their blood flowed down the fuller. Others ran
forward, only to be spitted on their enemies’ blades; a few were shot with arrows, some beaten about the head with a steel war-hammer, and when the madness was done, there was still only one
trio remaining: the older man and his two opponents.

At a nod from Sir Charles, the man with the war-hammer went to them, and with one blow from his spike, ended the man’s battles forever.

Afterwards, while the bodies of their menfolk cooled all about them, the women were forced to lie in their husbands’ blood while they were raped.

Ulric could not close his eyes all night, for fear that those tortured faces would return to haunt his dreams. And now, in the daylight, as he watched Sir Charles walk about the lane here,
gazing at the trees with the eyes of an expert tactician viewing a new ambush site, all Ulric could think of was somehow warning people about the band. Surely he could get news of the men to
someone before more died?

But he could not think how to do this. Escape was impossible, and without flying from the men, he had no hope. Already he could feel their eyes upon him. He had not helped when they killed the
villagers, but had stood back at the wall, clutching at the stones to stop himself falling. Now many of them viewed him as an enemy in their midst. They were watching him all the time in case he
tried to run.

The only man who viewed him with any fondness was Sir Charles. The knight appeared to consider him like a slightly wayward boy, to be treated with an amiable tolerance. He would not forget that
Ulric had saved his life.

But it did not help Ulric. He was sure that soon he would die. Whether at the hands of the men here, or those of a posse, it made no difference. He had no hope.

No hope at all.

Near alley at Combe Street

Baldwin and Sir Richard waited until the body was released for burial.

Glancing down, Baldwin noticed that Wolf had been distracted. The huge dog sat at the wall of the Paffard house, panting happily, while a young boy cuddled him.

It was a sight to make a man smile. In the midst of this pain and suffering, it was good to see that there were still boys who behaved as boys. Baldwin could recall when he had been young. In
those days he had spent more time with his dogs than with his family. They had been happy days.

Happier than these, certainly, he thought.

A boy was sent to the Cathedral to instruct the Fosser to dig a new grave, and to bring a cart of some sort to transport the body. The Holy Trinity was the local parish church, but the Cathedral
had an absolute monopoly on funerals, and Alice would have to be taken up to the Close.

The Coroner was relieved to be done, chatting to his clerk, but for his part, Baldwin was dissatisfied. He left Sir Richard where he was for a moment, walking over to Emma and Helewisia where
they knelt beside the girl’s body, wrapping her in a winding sheet.

‘Mistress, I should like to ask you a question.’

Emma looked up at him with suspicious eyes. ‘Why? The inquest is over, isn’t it?’

Baldwin drew her away from Helewisia. ‘Yes. I didn’t wish to embarrass you before the jury. This young woman died a vile death. The matter is less about her, than about the man who
was prepared to do this to her.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Emma bridled, immediately on her guard. This man had dark eyes that fixed on her with a curious intensity; it was alarming, as though he could see
through her foolish defences to all the secrets she held in her breast.