31 - City of Fiends (51 page)

Second Saturday after the Nativity of St John the Baptist
¹¹

Precentor’s House

Adam Murimuth poured the wine himself that morning. He was grateful to these men for their efforts in the last week, and it was a sign of his respect that he brought the drinks
to them.

‘Sir Baldwin, Sir Richard, Simon, I can only say that I and the Cathedral are indebted to you for everything you have done. It is sad indeed that this affair should have come to such a
pass, but at least you have resolved it. I trust you are all well now? You slept well?’

Baldwin nodded. It had been some time before the crowd had been induced to leave the street. Some men were still wandering about the house trying to find the caskets of jewels and diamonds that
were rumoured still to be lying in profusion all over the house. They had to be forcibly ejected by Edgar and two Watchmen. Baldwin and the others had come here to the Cathedral Close for safety.
There was a distinct impression that more violence could ensue, were they to try to find their way to an inn. Random members of the mob could try to seek them out, and none of them were willing to
risk that.

‘You are sure that it was not the intruders who killed the two?’ Adam asked as he took a mazer of wine for himself. He had used all his goblets for his guests.

‘Quite certain, yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘The injuries that killed them were entirely consistent with the knife that Gregory held in his hand, and it fitted the sheath about his
waist. Simon was there almost immediately, with the leaders from the crowd. No one would have had the time to place the sheath on his belt, and I myself saw that belt about his waist, and the
sheath and the knife earlier in the afternoon.’

‘So they killed themselves from shame, do you think?’

Simon shook his head. ‘No. I think Gregory so loved his sister that he would not see her ravaged or slaughtered slowly by the crowd. And then, in his grief, he took his own
life.’

‘Terrible, terrible,’ the Precentor murmured. ‘To think that such awful events could take place here. It makes one think that it should be recorded. Such things should not be
forgotten.’

‘I believe, with respect, that there is no need to record what has happened this last week,’ Baldwin said firmly.

‘I am sorry? I do not understand.’

Baldwin looked at Sir Richard and Simon, both of whom nodded. ‘We have been discussing this already, Precentor. If we allow news of all this to be bruited abroad, we run the risk of
inciting more people to violence. This began as the treachery of Henry Paffard. He was keen to make money by selling his Bishop to a known mercenary. If news of that murder is allowed to escape to
the wider world, and people realise that Sir Edward of Caernarfon is free, they may rally to him, even perhaps allow him to raise a force about him. Then again, if the Berkeley family realises that
their kinsman was murdered in revenge for their holding Sir Edward, it will lead to further ramifications. I would avoid that, if at all possible.’

‘I cannot conceal Henry Paffard’s murder!’

‘He died in prison. Any death in prison is usually considered to be from natural causes, be it from cold, hunger, thirst, or an injury. He suffered an injury. I should leave matters at
that.’

‘What of the mob violence towards the Paffards?’

Sir Richard spoke up now. ‘This is a good city, Precentor. The people here are not so unruly as some. They were incited to fury by a few hotheads, but that is an end to it. I think you
will find that they will be as calm and sensible as you could wish. This ain’t London, after all.’

‘I see. And you are all sure of this? Well, very good, then. I am only glad that the character of poor Laurence is rescued without a stain to besmirch it. Although I still do not know what
he was doing there in the alley when Alice was killed.’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘We will probably never know.’

Cathedral Close

After they had made their farewells to the Precentor, Baldwin was in a pensive mood as he walked with his friends up towards the Broad Gate. He had been struck with the same
question as Adam, and as he walked, he became more and more convinced that there must be a clue somewhere to Laurence’s feelings.

At the gate, he waved the others on, and stood inside the gateway. He didn’t have to wait long. Janekyn Beyvyn was in his chamber, and when he realised Baldwin was outside, he hurried out,
wiping his hands on a cloth.

‘Sir? You wanted me?’

Baldwin sucked his teeth for a moment, then said, ‘Would you walk with me a moment, Janekyn?’

‘If I can keep the gate in view. I have my job to do, sir.’

They strolled along. Horses roamed here, cropping the grass over the graves, and two boys were playing chase in among the slabs.

‘Janekyn, I have thought much about the night of that first murder. It strikes me as peculiar that Father Laurence would have gone out into the town, then when he saw the dead girl, come
running back to the Bear Gate. Why wouldn’t he have gone to the Palace Gate, for that would have been nearer? And then something else struck me: he would have assumed that all the gates would
be closed. He would have naturally known the hour when the gates were locked. It was a miracle that any was still open, wasn’t it? He was fortunate.’

‘Yes? I don’t understand what you mean.’

‘If he thought all the gates would already be closed, it is clear what his purpose must have been. I mean, he must have already decided that he was not going to come back that night. It
was only the shock of seeing Alice dead in that alley that made him return. Otherwise, he was going to flee the city that same night.’

‘You think so?’

‘Oh, I think we both know it. I remember you saying that there were two men on that gate that night. One was a friend of Laurence’s, wasn’t he? Who could be relied upon to open
the gate for him?’

Janekyn said nothing, but his pacing was slower now as he listened, and his face had taken on a similar appearance to the chips and blocks of rock that lay all about.

Baldwin continued: ‘I do not recall his name – nor do I wish to. But it is plain enough to me that Father Laurence was a popular man amongst the clergy. The porter at the gate too
liked him. As did Father Paul at Holy Trinity. All seem to have been struck with him. And yet he was a sad man who was determined to leave the Cathedral and the city. That astonishes me,
frankly.’

Janekyn licked his lips. He cast a look over his shoulder at his gate, and then turned to Baldwin with an eye half-closed as though measuring Baldwin in some way. At last he nodded, as if he had
passed some test.

‘Sir Baldwin, I remember you from years ago when we had all that trouble here in the Cathedral. You were straight with us all then. I don’t see as you’ve changed much over the
years, so I’ll tell you. There were several of us here knew how unhappy Laurence was. He didn’t want to be a priest: he was a strong, happy soul, who would have been contented as a
peasant with a small plot to plough and work. And the worst of it is, he could have been that by now.

‘I don’t know what made him come back, but I know why he left. He was in love. The girl Agatha who died at her brother’s hand – he was going to ask her to run away with
him. So he went to see Agatha that afternoon, full of mustard, but she refused him. Cut him right down. Running off with a renegade priest wasn’t good enough for her, see. So he went to say
goodbye to Father Paul, and after, he went back to the house one last time. I think he walked up the alley to be near her, but hidden. He could stand in there and imagine her only a foot or so
away, the other side of the wall. But he never saw her.’

‘Instead he found a dead woman.’

‘More than that, sir. He found a dead young thing who was the same age as Agatha, and who had a similar face and build, from what I saw at the inquest. I think he might have thought it
was
her.’

‘He thought the dead girl was his beloved?’ Baldwin said with a flash of insight. ‘Of course, in the gloom of the alley, it would easy to mistake her.’ He should have
thought of that. ‘So he ran back here in shock?’

‘To the gate where he knew the porter,’ Janekyn nodded. ‘He was just lucky that it was so early in the evening.’

‘And you knew all this?’

Janekyn lifted an eyebrow. ‘If I’d heard, I’d have told the Precentor in the blink of an eye. No, I was told all this by my porter on the day Laurence ran. He was anxious about
him after all that.’

‘I see. I am grateful to you, friend Janekyn. You have eased my mind a little on the matter.’

‘Little enough,’ Janekyn observed. ‘It is sad to think Laurence is dead. But at least he died in protecting another. That’s good. But it’s a miserable twist of fate
that the man he was saving was such a coward he killed himself so soon after.’

Second Tuesday after the Nativity of St John the Baptist
¹²

Cowley Ford

When he reached the bank of the river by the ford, Ulric stood and stared at the fork in the road, wondering which way to go.

He had been lying low in the city since being discovered by the strange servant, and every day had brought him a new moment of terror. There were so many there who might recognise him. Only
yesterday at a cookshop, he had seen a man who had been in the posse. Ulric had been so alarmed, he had fumbled the change in his purse and dropped two pennies, and the man had himself stepped on
one of the coins, picked it up and passed it to him.

Ulric had been so shocked, his hand had shaken like the ague. ‘I drank too much last night,’ he said, but he was sure that the man had seen through his little fiction. The
fellow’s eyes had been on him all the way along the street, he could sense it, even if he hadn’t followed him. But that meant nothing. He could have paid some urchin to trail after him,
and perhaps even then was preparing a group of sturdy citizens to come and capture Ulric for his part in the murder of the Bishop . . . But no one had come, even though he had sat up in his room,
waiting. At any time they might break down his door and crash in to capture him, but nothing happened.

It was this morning that he decided he must make the move and flee the city. He had wrapped up his spare shirt into a bundle, along with half a loaf of bread and a lump of blueish cheese, and as
soon as the gates were open, he was on the road.

His way was easily chosen. He would go to Tiverton and see if he could find work. Or Crediton. Both were goodly-sized towns, so he’d heard. Perhaps he could start a new life there. Get
employment in a shop. His skill with a pen would help him.

Tiverton or Crediton. He stood, frozen by indecision. Then, with a flash of simplicity, he chose north. At least with Tiverton he wouldn’t have to cross this river and get his feet
soaked.

‘Hello.’

Turning, he saw a young woman. She was a pretty thing, with her hair straggling from beneath her wimple.

‘Hello,’ he said. She was familiar at once. ‘You used to work in Paffard’s house, didn’t you? I was apprenticed there. Ulric.’

‘Yes,’ she said with a wary politeness. A look of pain crossed her face. She didn’t want to remember that place. ‘Where are you going?’

He pulled a grimace. ‘North.’

‘Oh?’ She glanced at his meagre pack. ‘Me too. I’m going home. A friend died, and I don’t want to stay in the city.’

‘Where is home?’ he asked.

‘A farm,’ she smiled. ‘North. Can I walk with you?’

Ulric smiled back, and the two began their journey. It was a pleasant day, and Ulric had almost forgotten his fears when he heard horses approaching from Exeter.

‘What is it?’ she asked, seeing how he blanched.

The horses were on them, riding at an easy canter. Two men, one knight with a thin beard that travelled about his jaw, and his servant was the man who had caught Ulric on that fateful day. Ulric
sighed. This was the capture he had feared. He felt a sob rise to choke him, and was about to drop his pack, when the two men rode on past, and off into the distance. But as they passed, Ulric was
convinced that the servant had looked at him and winked.