The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) (25 page)

‘You mean Daniel?’ Thomas said with a quiet gasp.

Baldwin nodded. He had been thinking of the murder of Mick, the man involved in prostitution and the gambling dens, the man
who had been working for Jordan, but if his giving Thomas the impression that he had meant Daniel led to a quicker answer,
he would leave Thomas in the dark.

Thomas was silent a short while. He looked uncertain, his glance casting about him, and then asked if he could consult with
the Dean before saying any more. Baldwin nodded, and Thomas walked off contemplatively.

It was some little while later that he reappeared. He nodded. ‘The Dean has sent someone to ask him to come. He must explain
himself to you. The confessional prevents my speaking. Would you join the Dean in his hall?’

Baldwin and Simon climbed the small staircase to the Dean’s chamber. He rose to greet them as soon as they entered.

‘Sir Baldwin, Bailiff Puttock, ah, thank you for coming up here. I don’t feel it’s likely that the, um, man will find it hard
to explain himself, but just in case, perhaps you could, um, let me remain here?’

Both nodded after exchanging a glance. Simon was pleased to see that his friend was apparently as baffled as he was. The Dean
sniffed, cleared his throat, and seated himself again in his chair, tapping his fingers on the arms irritably, and finally
bellowing for a jug of wine and three goblets, before putting his chin on his hand and staring uncommunicatively at the floor.

It was some little while before the man they were waiting for turned up.

Peter de la Fosse was tall and powerful-looking, compared with the frail figure of the Dean, but he had none of the strength
of purpose of the older man. ‘You asked me to come here, Dean?’

‘These men wish to ask you some – ah – questions. I suggest you answer them honestly. Honestly, mind. On your oath!’ the Dean
stated harshly.

Simon glanced at him in surprise. The Dean was always such a calm, quiet man, it seemed odd to hear him in what was clearly
a foul temper.

‘I will be honest, I swear,’ Peter said, his hand on his rosary.

‘Good,’ Simon said. ‘We wanted to speak to any canons or others who could have been involved in gambling recently.’

Peter shot a look to the Dean, who scowled at him. ‘Answer!’

‘Yes, I have taken the odd wager. Not very recently.’

‘How much?’ Baldwin asked.

‘A few pounds.’

‘How much?’ This time it was the Dean, who turned in his seat to stare uncompromisingly.

‘Nineteen.’

‘Pounds?’ Simon demanded. ‘That’s a fortune!’

‘It wasn’t my fault, Dean. I didn’t mean to … but that nasty little man Mick kept persuading me to go back and see if
my luck would change. It had to change! He kept telling me that no one was so unlucky for long, so I had to start winning
again, as I always had in the beginning, but …’

‘It never happened,’ Simon breathed. ‘It never does. The game was fixed. It always is. Men don’t own gambling halls for fun.
It’s always because they want to make money. And they do it by taking yours.’

‘I never thought I could come to owe so much,’ Peter said brokenly. ‘I don’t know how it grew to such a sum, but suddenly
there it was.’

‘And you couldn’t repay it?’ Baldwin asked, thinking of Gervase’s tale.

‘Nineteen pounds? No, not quickly. And then this other man asked me if I could help him, and if I did, he would settle my
debts for me.’

‘A man called Jordan le Bolle?’ Baldwin guessed.

Peter’s hesitation said it all. Alarmed, he wondered whether this was all a game to make him accuse Jordan. Jordan would never
forgive a man who betrayed him. Everyone knew that.
Then he glanced at the Dean’s face and realized that there could be no collusion between these men and Jordan le Bolle. ‘Yes.
How do you know him?’

‘Just tell us what happened,’ Simon sighed.

‘He said that there was a poor knight who was being held in the priory of the Shod Friars, and the man ought to be brought
back to be given a Christian burial in the cathedral. I knew what he meant, obviously. A funeral without permission in the
friary would be illegal, so invalid. It was obviously better for the man’s soul that he should be brought back to be buried
here, in the cathedral. No one could argue against that.’

‘Except Prior Guibert,’ the Dean said heavily.

‘What else did he want?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Nothing,’ Peter said.

Baldwin smiled slowly. There was a shiftiness about the man’s demeanour that reminded him of a misbehaving child. ‘Think again,
Canon. And this time, remember your oath.’

Peter’s hand went back to his rosary and fingered the cross. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The other three in
the room were silent. His internal deliberations were tormenting him, and his glance went from one to the other of his interrogators
as he twisted his fingers and tried to seek a means of escape.

‘Dean, forgive me!’ he cried, and threw himself on the floor at the Dean’s feet. ‘I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, and
if I could take back my actions, I would, but it was impossible! I confess! I would find out when a ship was arriving at the
quay, and then tell Jordan le Bolle so that he could meet the sailors and lead them to debauch themselves in his brothel and
gaming rooms, while Jordan had his men steal the cargo and replace it with rubbish. Later he would sell the cargo to the cathedral
again.’

‘What was your price?’ the Dean asked harshly. ‘What did he pay you for your robbery of God’s palace and setting the cathedral
chapter against the friars, to the shame and sadness of God Himself? What did you demand in return?’

‘He allowed me to visit his house at the southern gate.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘To visit Jordan’s women at his brothel?’

‘Yes. And my debts were held. He did not ask for payments. The debt was frozen.’

‘So that he could take you whenever he wanted and threaten to demand the money back. How long,’ Baldwin asked, ‘has all this
been going on?’

‘Two years.’

‘Two years … and no one in the chapter or the city guessed?’ Baldwin said, appalled.

‘Only Daniel guessed. He accosted me about it once when he saw me leaving the gambling halls. He thought he knew what was
going on in there. But he didn’t! He couldn’t realize how Jordan entwined a man about his fingers. He is the devil himself!’

Dean Alfred nodded to Baldwin. ‘Is there any more, do you think?’

‘I doubt it. I think he has told us enough, anyway.’

‘I think so too. Canon, return to your house and stay there while I decide what to do.’ He watched the canon leave, head hanging
like a whipped cur’s. ‘There was a time when that fellow would have made an excellent Treasurer, or even Dean. Now he is ruined.’

‘Do not be too harsh on him,’ Baldwin said. ‘He couldn’t have realized what he was doing.’

‘But he sold his cathedral in order to avoid shame. That was unforgivable.’

‘What interests me is why the priory should have chosen
this time to keep a body,’ Simon said slowly. ‘It is surely too much of a coincidence to think that the allegation of robbery
happened just as Sir William died.’

‘It was no coincidence,’ Baldwin reminded him. ‘The man Gervase was told by this same Jordan to claim he had been robbed.’

‘And then the knight in the priory died,’ Simon agreed. ‘I wonder whether Jordan had a hand in that too?’

Baldwin nodded grimly. ‘Let us try Jordan himself, or his friend Reginald. Perhaps one or the other could be persuaded to
speak the truth and confess.’

‘Which do you want to speak to first?’

‘The man Reginald lives near St Nicholas’s Priory, so I’m told,’ Baldwin said. ‘From all we have heard, Jordan le Bolle appears
to be the stronger of the two. Let us start with this Reginald and see what we may learn. Then we should go to meet Jordan,
but perhaps it would be as well to take men with us. He owns a gambling den, it seems he has a brothel and panders to protect
his women, and he even dares to set men to defraud the cathedral, as well as setting the cathedral against the friars. He
sounds like a man who could be dangerous. Perhaps we should speak to Sir Peregrine before we confront him.’

Agnes was furious. The idea that she might be simply cast out again … she had looked after the children, she had helped
her sister move back into the house, she had done all she might to assist them, and yet as soon as Master Coroner with the
shifty eyes appeared, she was unwanted again. It was sickening. She could scarcely control her fury as she slammed the door
behind her and made her way along the street. The ungracious, miserable sow! How dare she simply wave her out, as though Agnes
was little better than a maid!

She dodged a vast pile of horse droppings, and stopped just beyond, breathing heavily. Here she was at the top of the lane,
and could gaze back down.

The river gleamed in the distance, reflecting the sun as it headed westwards over the road to Crediton, and the hills encircling
Exeter seemed to shine, the sun shimmering on the few leaves remaining on the trees that smothered them, the reds and golds
glistening. Autumn leaves, she thought, and suddenly the tears that had been stemmed so long burst from her.

It was unfair, so
terribly
unfair. Her sister had won Daniel when Agnes had wanted to have him, and now she was taking Sir Peregrine from under Agnes’s
nose as well. It was terrible.

She sobbed. Autumn leaves, so beautiful, and then they fell
and nothing remained, their beauty lost for ever. She was like them: her beauty was fading, and she was still without a husband.
All she could manage was a lover, and he was already married. She was nothing more than a distraction for him. Nothing else.
He couldn’t leave his wife. The Church wouldn’t allow him.

Turning back, she went to Gwen’s house. The idea of talking to a friend was now very appealing. She wiped her sleeve over
her face. There was nothing else she could do. Her mind was numbed with misery, and her body was exhausted. She needed sympathy.

Gwen was sitting in her little parlour as Agnes entered.

‘Maid, you look terrible,’ Gwen said. She stood compassionately, her face twisted, and then a shot of pain went through her
breast and she had to sit again suddenly. ‘Oh! That was a bad one.’

‘Gwen, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. How are you? I thought you would be staying with your sister tonight.’

‘Oh, Gwen. I feel so stupid. So lonely. I wish …’

Gwen smiled soothingly. She knew what Agnes wanted more than anything else. It was obvious the way she behaved around men.
‘You’ll soon have a man of your own, maid.’

‘Every man I look to, Juliana wins his heart.’

‘You are thinking of a particular man?’

‘No! No. Well, I admired that Coroner. He’s very attractive, I think,’ she said with a faint desperation in her voice. She
scuffed the floor with a toe.

‘Juliana’s not after your man, maid. She isn’t interested – look,’ Gwen laughed, warming to her theme, ‘people have been talking
about her to me. Oh, ever since Jordan went visiting at her house, people’ve said she was having an affair. Some said
she killed Daniel to clear the way, but there’s nothing in that. What, do you think your sister would commit adultery? She
wouldn’t think of it. And they’d have to do away with his wife, too, if they wanted freedom.’

‘Gwen?’ Agnes asked. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Jordan’s wife. They’d have to kill her too if they wanted to marry. All I’m saying is, she’s got nothing to do with anything
like that. She’s too loyal to have had a part in Daniel’s death. She’d find it impossible to consider taking Jordan. But the
rumours were all over the place – and it’s worse since he came here, I dare say. People can’t mind their business, but have
to poke their noses in other folks’ affairs. No, I’d bet you’re safe. She’s too bound up in grief still, anyway. If you’re
looking at that Coroner, you’re safe.’

‘She’s been seeing Jordan?’

‘There’s enough saw him go to her house when Daniel was out. But I think it was something else, not because he wanted her
to part her legs for him. Don’t worry. Maid? What’s the matter?’

She saw Agnes stare at her, retreating from the room, slowly shaking her head as though in horror. All at once Gwen realized
that Agnes had not meant what Gwen had thought. She tried to rise, but a fresh pain stabbed at her breast, and she gasped
in agony, a hand to her side, sinking back on her stool. She watched Agnes turn and fly from the house, but she could do nothing,
not even shout. The pain was too strong.

There was no point even thinking of going to the priory. It would be shut up for the night before long, and the Prior would
be easier to speak to in the morning. Instead, Baldwin led the way to Reginald’s house, a large property up the lane that
led past the Priory of St Nicholas.

The bailiff was impressed. He had seen many like this down
at Dartmouth, imposing places built to enhance the status of the owner as much as provide a space in which to live. This was
rather magnificent. It had a broad front, with a bridge to the front door that stood over a basement area like a drawbridge
over a moat. It gave the impression of a house that was strong and defensible.

Entering, Simon and Baldwin were brought to a pleasant hall. Sitting in a comfortable-looking chair was a man dressed in fur-trimmed
robes and a warm-looking cap, while at his side was a startlingly attractive blonde woman, similarly clothed. As Simon walked
in, he thought to himself that they appeared the ideal couple. The man was plainly a successful merchant, while his wife was
the perfect adornment for him, a cool beauty with the calmness of a woman who possessed her own intelligence.

And then he approached more closely and he saw the flaws in both.

The man was sad, careworn and grim-faced. The woman was shrewish, with fine-chiselled features that were sharp and almost
cruel-looking. Glancing back at Reginald, Simon thought he could see why he looked so solemn and beleaguered. The happiness
had been sucked from him by this woman, Simon reckoned, and he found his sympathy going all to the man.

‘Lordings, how may I help you?’ Reginald asked. ‘I have wine – would you like me to serve you with a little?’

Baldwin was still at the stoup by the door. He crossed himself with pensive deliberation, then walked over the floor to stand
in front of Reginald. Standing and studying the man with a small frown on his face, he shook his head, then glanced at the
man’s wife. ‘I would question your husband, lady. Would you leave us alone for a while?’

‘Why? Should I be ashamed of him?’

‘You should ask him that,’ Baldwin replied mildly.

‘I will stay.’

Reg licked his lips. He called for his bottler and demanded a good goblet of wine for himself, and when it arrived he drank
heavily, smacking his lips appreciatively. ‘A good one that. Cost me a fortune, but worth every penny. What’s this all about?’

Baldwin frowned at the ground, and Simon rested his hand on his sword hilt. ‘We have a problem,’ he said.

‘Can I help you with it?’ Reg asked, surprised. He rather liked the look of this bailiff. The man looked like a moorman, with
his rugged, leathery skin and dark eyes. He had the appearance of the sort of fellow Reg would like to share a drink with.

Baldwin looked up. ‘We have come from the cathedral chapter. We have heard how you ensnared Gervase le Brent and persuaded
him to lie for you, purely to stir up trouble between the cathedral and the priory. I’m not sure why, but I will learn. We
know that you are involved in the gambling and whoring down by the docks. Well, that isn’t against the law, although I’m surprised
your wife is happy for you to manage all those wenches down there. No, those are little affairs, really. More serious is the
systematic theft of Church property, by having your people rob the ships of their cargoes before the cathedral even sees them,
and then selling the goods back to the chapter when you have stolen them in the first place. Still, that is not the most important
matter – more important than any of these is the affair of the murders. Three of them. And I’m not sure how you achieved them
all.’

‘Me? You accuse me of murder?’ Reginald demanded with some shock.

‘You are a partner of Jordan le Bolle. You laid the trap for Gervase, we have learned, and you also helped Canon Peter, didn’t
you? With all these aspects of your life so closely bound
up with Jordan’s, I think you must have been involved in the murders.’

‘I’ve never killed a man in my life.’

‘Never? And yet we have witnesses who saw you about Daniel’s place when he died, and near the alley when Mick was murdered,’
Baldwin invented. He was sure that this man, if he was an ally and comrade of Jordan, must know something of the murders.
Surely they were both involved in the attempt to defraud the cathedral if nothing else; and in the gambling. ‘Tell me, where
do
you
say you were on the day of Daniel’s murder?’

‘I can’t remember exactly … I, um …’

‘You were at Daniel’s house, weren’t you?’ Baldwin said.

‘Whoever told you that was a liar. I was probably here, wasn’t I, darling?’

Baldwin watched as the woman clenched her jaw. She had the look of a bull terrier which has chewed a bone only to find it
was a rock.

‘Of course, husband. Whatever you say, husband. If you think you were here, clearly you must have been.’

Agnes was shaking with grief.

It was hard to believe that this was really happening. Surely Jordan wouldn’t have betrayed her so cruelly? He couldn’t have
gone to Juliana, could he? The cow couldn’t have ensnared Agnes’s lover as well as Daniel and now Sir Peregrine, in God’s
name …

Juliana was a beautiful woman, though. Those lovely flashing eyes of hers, the trim figure even after two births, the delicious
colour of her milky skin, all spoke of her attractiveness. She would soon snatch the favours of any man she set her eye upon.
Agnes was mere chaff in the wind once Juliana had decided upon a man.

The irony, the bitter, bitter irony of it all. Agnes had always wanted a sister when she was young. A friend to play with,
the closest friend of all to grow up with, to share a life with. That was what she had hoped for. Now the flavour left in
her mouth was dust and ashes, nothing else. Juliana had ruined every aspect of her life. She had stolen all the men Agnes
had ever wanted: Daniel, Jordan and Sir Peregrine. All taken by Juliana before Agnes could snare them. All taken. Agnes’s
life was ruined.

She had reached his house and she stood outside for a moment, staring up at the closed and shuttered windows, then went to
the door and beat upon it with her fist.

‘Open this door! Open it!’ she screamed, not caring who might hear, who might know. It didn’t matter. Not now. All she knew
was, her life was ruined. Even this man, the one whom she had trusted above all others, had betrayed her.

When the door opened, she swept past Mazeline without noticing her. She was just a servant, to her mind. Mazeline didn’t matter
compared with her own feelings. What was some other woman when her life was devastated?

‘Well, husband. That was an interesting meeting,’ Sabina declared as soon as the door closed behind the visitors.

‘Sab, please. Not now.’ Reg groaned. Jesus’s pain, but those two seemed to know a lot. The only saving was that they couldn’t
force Sabina to accuse him. A wife’s word was not to be extorted like that. But they said that they had witnesses … someone
had seen him at Daniel’s, and at the alley … There was no one there, though. Only Est and him at Daniel’s. No one else
knew he had been there. And as for the alley, only Jordan himself knew he was there then.

‘Why keep silent? Who’s going to care what happened tonight when you’ll be in a cell before long?’

The words sank in. He turned to look at her. ‘What?’

‘You killed Daniel, didn’t you? You said you were here, but you
weren’t
. I remember that night. It was the night after Ham’s inquest. I thought you were out with the whores, but I don’t think you
were. You were killing poor Sergeant Daniel, weren’t you?’

‘Christ Jesus, woman – no, I wasn’t. I swear I didn’t kill him.’

‘Oh, and you expect me to believe that? Give me some credit, man! Do I look so stupid I’ll believe any garbage you throw me?
I am no fool. And I’m certainly not thick enough to remain here while you try to bring more shame on me or my son. We are
leaving you now.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Home. Father will protect me better than you could!’

‘Sab, I am your husband …’

‘Only on paper. When did you last actually want me? You aren’t a man to me. You don’t desire me. You’re happier with the whores
than with me, aren’t you? Or this other woman. Who is she?’

‘I can’t tell you. It’s nothing. Nothing at all. You’re making it all up. There’s no one else.’

‘Oh, really? So my son imagined hearing her panting? He imagined seeing her legs wrapped round you?’

‘He dreamed it,’ Reg said with a brief flaring of imagination.

‘
You expect me to believe that?
’ she screeched. ‘You’ve lied to me all these years, why should I trust you now? Get away from me! I’m leaving with Michael,
and don’t try to stop me!’

Jordan listened to the noise in his head. It was a ringing, whistling sound that wouldn’t go away whatever he tried. Mazeline
appeared in the doorway a short while after Agnes rushed in, and stood there staring inside with an expression of
fear mingled with shock. But the stupid bitch must have known what he was up to. She didn’t expect him home every night –
where else did she think he was?

Agnes screamed at him, and her voice cut through his brain like a bill. ‘Is it true? Did you take my sister as well? You told
me you wanted me, only me! How could you do that to me? How could you take her as well?’

‘Shut up,
shut up
!’ he bellowed as the voice grew more insistent. Christ’s bones, but the bitch was loud.

‘What is all this about, Jordan?’ Mazeline asked quietly in the sudden silence.

‘Didn’t he tell you? He never loved you, he wanted me!’ Agnes declared brokenly.