The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) (24 page)

He was about to go and see if he could find a game when he heard two men asking about him. He didn’t recognize either of
them, when he surreptitiously peered round a beam, but that didn’t matter. He hadn’t known Mick when he came here, and he
didn’t know the other two when they offered to help him. These two didn’t look too dangerous. They weren’t employees of a
pawnbroker or from a gambling den where he owed money, so far as he could tell.

‘My lordings, you wanted me?’ he asked in his best booming voice. The louder and deeper the voice, he always thought, the
more bold and hearty a fellow sounded. Gervase liked to sound hearty.

‘You are Gervase de Brent? I am Simon Puttock, and this is Sir Baldwin de Furnshill. We would like to speak to you for a little.’

‘Is this about the robbery at the cathedral?’ Gervase asked hopefully.

‘Absolutely!’ the knight responded, and Gervase smiled, preening himself.

‘I thought I’d hear something soon. It is ridiculous to think that my loss should be ignored, as though any visitor to the
cathedral can become a victim of crime in such a manner. Quite outrageous, really. To think that a man of business like me
can be affected in that way.’

The two men persuaded him to join them in a darker part of the inn, out at the back, where they could sit and discuss the
matter in peace, and Gervase walked after them trustingly. They were clearly sent to him by the cathedral’s chapter. The chapter
was ashamed of their lapse. No chapter could afford to be thought to be harbouring a thief. No, as he’d been told, they wanted
to make a deal. Well, that was no problem. God’s blood, he’d be happy with a couple of pounds. That’d be enough. He’d be delighted
to forget the rest. Who cared?

‘You had your money stolen while you were in the cathedral,
making use of their hospitality?’ the older man, the one called Sir Baldwin, asked.

‘That’s right. Someone must have taken it. I mean to say, you know what it’s like! I wouldn’t normally want to complain. It
would embarrass the chapter, I dare say, eh?’ Gervase said, but then he set his face in a frown and leaned forward, shaking
his head gravely. ‘But come, you and I are men of the world, yes? The last thing I would like to do is upset the Dean and
chapter, but if there is one rotten apple, far better that it is removed before it can infect all the others in the barrel,
eh? I think that it’s necessary to find that apple. Or at least to let him know he’s being sought. It’s not the money so much,
you understand? It’s the idea that there should be a man in there who . .’

‘That is good. So you agree that you’ll not worry about claiming the money back?’ the knight said.

Gervase smiled through his teeth, although he was changing his opinion of the man. Clearly the knight was sent to minimize
the loss to the chapter. ‘I don’t think I said I’d agree to lose so large a sum. It must seem a small amount to a noble knight,
sir, but to a mere mean traveller and merchant like me, it’s a lot. But it’s important that the man is caught, too.’

‘What are you after?’ the other man asked. He had a smile on his face, and he looked like a fellow who was saying: ‘Come on,
we’re all adults here. What do you really want, eh?’

Gervase smiled back. ‘Look, let’s be realistic, yes? All I want is the money I need to get back to Brent. It’s a long way.
I’ve lost a small fortune, and I want to go home. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing,’ the smiling man said, and then his smile seemed to flee his face and his head was lowered. ‘But if someone was
trying to rob the cathedral, I might grow angry.’

‘Simon!’ the other said warningly. ‘There’s no need for that.’

‘This sodomite has accused the cathedral of robbing him, and you want me to treat him kindly?’

‘Simon, he’s just saving himself from the shame of confessing to what he’s done here, that’s all.’

Gervase made as though to stand. ‘I don’t need to listen to this!’

Simon stood up too. ‘Yes, you do!’ he snarled, and Gervase suddenly realized that these two were in his way to the door out
of the tavern. He sat down again with a very hollow, sinking feeling in his belly.

‘First,’ Baldwin said, ‘how much do you owe to the brothel and the other gamblers? Were all your shillings thrown away on
games of chance, or were some invested in the whores?’

‘I don’t know what you mean!’

‘Baldwin, let me hit him!’ Simon begged, standing again. Baldwin had to put out his hand, but he winced as he did so.

Gervase was suddenly very nervous. The sling about his neck showed that this Baldwin was injured. If his hot-headed companion
decided to grow more aggressive, there might be little that the knight could do to stop him. He moved his stool a little farther
from the table. ‘All right, all right, there’s no need for that! Yes, I lost a bit on the games. The tarts – well, you know
– I was lonely. I’ve been travelling for some time now, and was on my way home.’

‘How much did you lose?’ Baldwin snapped.

‘About seven shillings.’

‘And you sought to claim six marks from the chapter?’ Simon sneered.

‘Look, it’s what people do, yes? That’s what they said, that the Church can afford to lose a little to a man like me, and
when they have people who’ve lost a lot, they recommend that
we demand it back from the chapter. The canons never quibble. They’ve got enough of their own, that’s what they said.’

‘Who are “they”?’ Simon demanded.

‘The ones there in the gambling rooms. Mick took me to them. One was Jordan, the other Reginald. They were the men who ran
the place.’

‘Reginald who?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Gyll, or something. He was with Jordan le Ball or someone. They owned it, and the whorehouse too, according to Mick. He seemed
quite scared of them both, although I don’t know why. They seemed reasonable enough to me,’ Gervase said, putting on his man-of-the-world
expression.

‘Did you think so?’ Baldwin asked in a quiet voice. ‘What is your trade, Master Gervase?’

‘I am a merchant – but business is not good just now.’

‘If you were to start trying to sell goods to make some money instead of robbing a cathedral, you might find yourself in more
luck,’ Simon said harshly.

Gervase had risen and was staring pathetically about him. ‘Don’t let him hit me!’

‘You’re not worth the effort,’ Simon said contemptuously and sat back with his arms folded. ‘But you will answer us now.’

‘I want to go. You’re holding me against my will.’

‘The little man has some fight left in him,’ Simon said to Baldwin.

‘Yes. Very well, Gervase. You may go. Oh, one thing, though …’

‘What?’

‘I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace and my friend here is a bailiff. We are working for the Bishop and the Dean. We could
let it be known that you have been very helpful to us.’

‘That’s a threat?’ Gervase asked with a snigger.

‘You went to the gambling with a Master Mick?’ Baldwin asked.

‘He’s a friend of mine.’

‘Was. He’s dead.’

‘The poor fellow. I didn’t think he looked …’ Gervase looked at him doubtfully. ‘Are you threatening me now?’

‘No. I am telling you. He was murdered; his throat was cut. Did you meet a whore with him? A girl named Anne?’

‘Yes, a lovely little thing. Very young and pretty. She has such life in her.’

‘She’s dead. The man who killed Mick also cut her dreadfully about the face and body, and she committed suicide.’

Gervase stared at him, and his face seemed to crumple. ‘Both of them? Who would murder them?’

‘Did either of them mention that they might be leaving the city soon?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Mick did say that he was going to, yes. He said he was going to marry and settle. He’d got some money saved and was going
to head south to the coast.’

‘That was why he died,’ Baldwin said flatly.

‘It’s no crime to marry,’ Gervase said. He was growing tearful.

Simon leaned forward, his elbow on the table top. ‘Are you being intentionally obtuse? Anne was going to run off with Mick.
Her master, the man who owned her, was not happy to let that happen. He tortured and terrified her and murdered Mick, just
to leave a message to all the other whores who work for him. He scared her badly, and scarred her still more, and she killed
herself.’

‘Sweet Mother Mary, Blessed …’

‘It’s a little late to pray, when you’ve just been planning to
defraud the chapter of a large sum of money,’ Simon rasped.

‘I didn’t think it would hurt them! The Dean and his canons are so rich. And they said it wouldn’t hurt . .’

‘Reginald and Jordan?’

‘They offered to help me. They gave me some money.’

‘In exchange for what?’ Simon asked. ‘Come on! If men like them offer to advance money, they demand repayment very soon after.
They tell you to bring it to them or they’ll break a finger, or cut off a toe, and if you still fail to bring them their cash,
they’ll break an arm, until you suddenly learn how to bring money in. Perhaps by selling something; more likely by robbing
someone. And so the cycle of violence continues … What did they demand from you, these usurers?’

Gervase shook his head. ‘They wanted nothing of the sort. The man Reg gave me some money, and was sympathetic about my bad
luck at the knuckles, and Jordan said that I might grow luckier soon. I offered them a ring and some plate as collateral,
but that was all, and they didn’t even ask for that – I had to suggest it.’

‘They wanted nothing?’

‘Well of course they did say that if my claim against the cathedral was successful, they would want their money back, but
that was all. They seemed perfectly happy with matters.’

‘Then you may consider yourself very fortunate,’ Baldwin said.

Simon bared his teeth. ‘You think so? Baldwin, I’m learning more about gambling and whores since I’ve moved to Dartmouth.
If this man was to leave the city suddenly, those two would know about it in moments, and a fellow would be sent after him
to rob him on his way home. That’s how they work: no one is ever entirely free from such men, ever.’

‘You mean I can’t leave Exeter?’ Gervase squeaked.

‘You can,’ Simon said. ‘But only if you go now, quickly, without waiting to hear from the cathedral about any money you say
you’re owed. Jordan and his friend won’t think that you’d leave without a profit. They couldn’t understand that, so they’ll
assume you will be here until the chapter pays you, and then they’ll do everything they can to catch you and take it. And
they won’t want to leave a living witness to their theft, of course.’

‘My God! I am undone!’

Baldwin glanced at him unsympathetically. ‘Yes. You are. And if you want to survive, you’d best begin telling us all about
your losses, where you played, who else was there, and what Mick and Anne said to you about Jordan and his companion.’

Henry felt the pain quite low in his back today. There was never a day when he was entirely without pain, of course, but this
one was a little different, a sharper one that stabbed quite deeply in his right buttock.

He closed his eyes, prayed, and continued, snapping the reins and forcing himself not to squirm in discomfort as he went up
the hill that led from the North Gate towards the Duryard.

It had been an easy decision to help the daft beggar. That lad had a head more full of shit than many a scavenger’s bucket.
Henry would want to help him even if he believed that Est had actually killed Daniel. He wasn’t sure. He’d never thought Est
had it in him to hurt anyone – but if he had killed Daniel, Henry couldn’t blame him, he thought, feeling his withered arm.

Everyone else would think he’d done it. Well, they all knew he was the one who used to nip into their houses and watch the
kids. Some men didn’t want him doing that, and they beat the shite out of him. The fathers were the ones who got most worried
by him. There was something about an innocent sort of man who only wanted to look at the children – it scared them. He scared
them. It’d be better if he was a real murderer,
or a thief, to listen to the way some of them spoke about him, poor old Est. He never did anyone any harm, but they talked
about him as though he was a madman, ready to pull a knife and cut the throats of their children just for a trophy.

The mothers were more sensible, most of them. After all, they knew Est, and knew what had happened to him. Perhaps the women
just understood that dreadful loss, losing his wife and child in the same short period. All women grew used to the idea of
miscarriage and failed birthings and dead infants. They were just a fact of living. No matter how good or clever you were,
how much money you had, how well you tried to live your life, there was always that risk. So many children died young, it
was a miracle not more mothers and fathers went mad with grief. Some did, of course, but many simply shrugged, wiped away
the tears, and got on with their lives again.

Ach! What was the point of running over all that again. Everyone knew that Est couldn’t really have done for Daniel …
except that they knew Est had been there. And quite a few – not all, but many – would be happy to see Est die anyway. They
would have a poor fellow removed just because he unsettled them. They wouldn’t see him executed because of his difference
necessarily, but if he was accused and convicted of murder, they’d accept that judgement and go to watch him swing. Good sport,
watching the felons dance their last jig.

But Henry wouldn’t see Est hang for a murder he hadn’t committed.

He was at the door to the old cottage now, and he glanced about him before sidling in, whistling. ‘Est?’ he hissed. ‘You here?’

The place was a tumbledown old cottar’s home, and it had been deserted long ago when the walls started to collapse. Now just
the spars of the roof stood out like the ribs of some
enormous animal which had swallowed him. The idea made his scalp tingle. A low cloud swept past, and he felt a chill enter
his bones with its passage. ‘Est?’

He should be here. They’d agreed that he wouldn’t go anywhere, do anything stupid, until Henry had come back to talk to him
and give him some more food. Est wasn’t going to show his face for a while, that was all, and hopefully the row’d calm down
and he’d be able to return to the city without too much grief once they’d caught the real murderer. That was the plan Henry
had elaborated to his friend, but now Est had gone.

Ralph was furious. As soon as his throat felt as though it was healed, which took a couple of large mazers of burned wine,
he left his house and strode along the road in a rage to think that he, Ralph of Malmesbury, could be treated in such a cavalier
manner. It was a disgrace that the man should think he could get away with bullying a physician. How
dare
he? Ralph knew some of the best men in the city – some who were as capable of violence as Jordan. Jordan should have realized
that, Ralph thought, and suddenly a deeply unpleasant idea took root and began to grow.

Jordan must certainly know that Ralph knew many of the influential men in the city. It was hardly a secret. With his access
to people like the Sheriff (a dangerous man in his own right!), surely Jordan should have been more anxious not to upset him.

The more he considered it, the more he grew to believe that Jordan was fully aware of Ralph’s position and the sorts of friends
he had. Yet he had had no qualms about attacking him in the street, where anyone might have seen the assault. That seemed
to show that Jordan knew full well that he was safe, no
matter who saw the attack. In fact, he didn’t care whether Ralph reported the assault or not.

Well, it wasn’t actually a murderous affair, so the most Ralph could gain from it would be a fine levied on Jordan, and as
he remembered the look in Jordan’s eyes Ralph began to realize that the man cared not a ha’penny for him or his friends. Jordan
was convinced either that he’d win any case, or that Ralph couldn’t proceed with it.

This wasn’t Ralph’s city. He’d lived here some years, yes, but he wasn’t under the skin of Exeter yet, and it was one of those
places where it took time to get beyond the apparent bonhomie and friendliness of the inhabitants to the real characters beneath.
There was corruption there, of course. That was no surprise; a certain amount of greasing of palms was essential in any profession
in any town, and it was hardly surprising that in a city like Exeter, which was so far from the King’s government, there should
be a permissive attitude to all kinds of business. Some laws were very laxly enforced when they affected members of the city’s
Freedom …

Ralph was not a member of that exclusive club. He hadn’t been born here, so had few rights other than those he could claim
as the due of a man who had provided services to the men who controlled the city. That meant little power, in reality, although
surely he was safer than someone with no influence at all.

Who had less than him, though? It was a sobering thought. He slowed in his hasty march.

It was an unpleasant reflection, but he had little in the way of real power. He was a stranger, a ‘foreigner’ as they liked
to say about here. A man like him, who wasn’t born in Devon let alone Exeter, had infinitely fewer rights than a man like
Jordan. Jordan’s word would always be taken rather than his.

Jordan’s word … suddenly he saw things clearly. ‘My whores’ he’d said, hadn’t he? He’d told Ralph to look after ‘my whores’
but to leave big men alone …

There were plenty of men here in the street, and Ralph gazed about him with a sudden sense of his own vulnerability. He could
as well have been a woman in this place, he reflected, and had a sudden thought. Turning right, he went over to the Southgate
Road, and was soon outside Betsy’s brothel.

A girl opened the door, her face pale and red-eyed this early in the morning, and she let out a little cry as Ralph pushed
by her. ‘Where’s Betsy?’

She pointed, and he marched through the screens and out to the lean-to rooms at the back. The sound of giggling came to him
from one of the rooms, and he threw open the door to find Betsy and a man in a large wooden barrel steaming with warm water.

‘Ralph? What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Betsy, I want to talk to you.’

‘You can’t, Ralph. I’m busy.’

‘Not too busy to help me now. I need to talk to you about Anne.’

The man in the bath with her was gazing from one to the other. ‘Who’s he, Bets? What’s he after?’

‘I am helping the King’s Keeper and Coroner investigate a murder,’ Ralph said.

‘Go and investigate somewhere else, then,’ the man sneered. ‘We’re busy.’

‘It’s Jordan, isn’t it, Betsy? It’s him owns this place,’ Ralph said.

Simon was feeling more than a little confused as they strode back along the lanes towards their hostelry. It had transpired
that he too was putting up at Talbot’s Inn. He said nothing as Baldwin went up to his room.

‘Jeanne?’

She was on their bed, and sat up in a hurry. ‘Are you finished?’

‘I wish I was,’ Baldwin grunted. He went to her side, sitting and twisting his fingers into her own. ‘Jeanne, this will probably
take another day or two.’

‘I thought we were going home to Richalda,’ Jeanne said. ‘I want my little girl.’

‘So do I. But the Dean has asked me …’

‘The Dean is more important than me and Richalda?’

Baldwin looked over to the window where Edgar stood gazing out. ‘Edgar, Simon’s in the hall.’ He waited until Edgar had left.
‘Jeanne, I want to go home too. My shoulder is giving me gip, the city is too loud and raucous, and all I want is you happy
again and the freedom of my own manor.’

‘But?’

‘I have responsibilities. I am the Keeper, and if the Dean asks me to help, I think I have to. He’s anxious because this could
develop into a fight between the chapter and the friars, and wants to avoid it if possible.’

‘And you?’

‘I want to go home with you. You are the only woman I love, the only woman I have ever loved; but just now there is a murderer
wandering the streets of the city. I think that this man Jordan is involved, and if I can capture him, I should do so.’

‘So my feelings don’t matter?’

‘Of course they do. But so does duty. I am a Keeper. I have to investigate murders and catch the killer if at all possible.’

She nodded. ‘But I want my husband, not a King’s Officer. I want you to myself.’

‘And you shall have me. Soon. I shall try to find out what has happened here, and do so as quickly as possible. Then we shall
leave Exeter.’

Sir Peregrine avoided the place for as long as his will allowed him, but then, in the late afternoon, he found himself unable
to keep away.

‘Is Mistress Juliana here?’ he asked at the door.

Gwen eyed him speculatively. ‘No, she’s back in her own house now. Why, Coroner, you thinking of capturing her?’

Her tone of voice made him flush, especially when she started cackling like an old fishwife.

Crossing the road, he went to Daniel’s house and knocked loudly. There were some steps, and soon Agnes stood in front of him.

‘Hello, Coroner. Who do you want here?’

‘Is your sister here, maid?’

Agnes gave a sharp nod and stood back to let him pass.

Sir Peregrine followed her pointing finger into the main hall. A fire was lit against the chill of the evening, and its welcoming
glow threw a warmth over the room. There were two children in there, the boy playing among the reeds, chuckling and snorting
to himself, while the girl, who was a little older, stood anxiously and went to her mother’s side. Her eyes were wide with
terror, and it struck Sir Peregrine that she held on to her mother so tightly, she might have thought he was there to take
Juliana away. She had lost her father, and her terror was all too plain.

‘Mistress Juliana, I came to see how you were. I hope I find you well?’ he began clumsily. Behind him he could hear a low
snigger, and he knew Agnes had walked in after him to listen to his attempt at courtesy.

Juliana sat still in a large carved chair of elm. She put a hand to her daughter’s, and slowly forced the child to relinquish
her grip. ‘It’s all right, Cecily, this kind knight is here to help us, aren’t you, Sir Peregrine?’

‘With all my heart.’

‘Agnes, would you fetch us some wine?’

‘Please, do not bother for me,’ Sir Peregrine said. He felt stilted and nervous, like a young man at his first wooing. Juliana
was so beautiful. It was not pure lust, but rather a delight in her physicality. There was something about her, as though
there was an aura that gathered all light to her and focused it on her features. Fine, wonderful, magnificent … they must
belong to a woman who was perfect in spirit too. Sir Peregrine was certain of it.

Juliana looked away. Agnes had not moved, and he could see that Juliana was uncertain what to do or say.

Agnes gave an angry exhalation, and flounced from the room. ‘If I’m not wanted, just say so. I’ll be off home,’ she called
over her shoulder and slammed the door.

Walking to the cathedral close, Simon could see how distracted Baldwin was. It was unlike him, and Simon had a shrewd guess
that it was more than a little because of Jeanne. To bring Baldwin’s mind to the present, he said, ‘So this Jordan is a local
fellow, then?’

Baldwin glanced at him, then showed his teeth in a smile. ‘Yes. Jordan le Bolle is an important man in the city, and now we
know he has something to do with Gervase’s gambling den. He seems to have employed the pander, Mick, to entice in gullible
fools like Gervase, and Mick was responsible for several whores, among them Anne. Anne and Mick are dead. Betsy, the woman
who helps run the whorehouse, knows who
is in charge of the place, but won’t say. I doubt she dares. Any man who runs a gambling and whoring place like that is unlikely
to be gentle and considerate.’

‘And with all his other ventures, he’s also trying to harm the cathedral?’ Simon said. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘I don’t know. But there is a man who may be able to help us,’ Baldwin said. He led the way to the deanery, and told the servants
what he needed. A man nodded, and hurried off. Soon he returned with Thomas, who looked up at them enquiringly. ‘Yes?’

‘When we spoke earlier, it struck me that you were very tolerant of gamblers and gambling,’ Baldwin said. ‘I suddenly thought,
there must be several canons here who must enjoy a game themselves.’

‘I dare say. Some of the men here would hate to think of gambling, but others would put money on how long it would take a
snail to cross a path,’ Thomas said with a chuckle.

Simon nodded. ‘We were wondering which of your canons would be the most ardent gambler?’

Thomas shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say.’

Baldwin said quietly, ‘Come, Master Thomas. We know that one canon has been frequenting the gaming dens down by the river.
You may have reasons for not wishing to denounce a brother from the cathedral, but we have to know. It may have a bearing
on this nonsense between the cathedral and the friary, and, more, may have some relevance to a murder.’