The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18) (17 page)

He swallowed, cleared his throat, and spurred his mount onwards. At the gate itself, he beckoned the porter and swung himself from his saddle. ‘I’m here to see the Dean. Tell him Sir Baldwin has arrived.’

Mabilla closed her eyes against the headache that threatened, so it seemed, to make her head explode into shards of red-hot bone. It was hard to believe that Henry really was dead: the man who had been the rock of her life, who had protected her, who had given her three children, only one of whom had survived.

Hearing faltering steps, Mabilla groaned to herself. The very last thing she wanted right now was her daughter wandering about the room with her eyes all red and bleared with misery.

Seeing William hadn’t helped, either. The man seemed to think that now Henry was dead, he, Will, would be able to step in and claim her again.

‘Come on, girl! You wanted me before him, didn’t you? It was only when I left the city …’

‘You expect me to come to you as soon as you kill my husband?’

‘Mab! You don’t really think I’d do a thing like that? Just remember the good times we had before I went.’

‘When you deserted me, you mean. You wooed me enthusiastically, but when you bethought yourself well-enough acquainted with the King’s temper, you chose to fly off with him.’

‘What else would a man do?’ he demanded innocently, his hands outspread, palms uppermost in a gesture of openness. ‘It was a career for a man like me. I went there with the King’s father, who gave me money and honours. The new King even bought me my corrody, when I was too old to continue in his service with all my wounds. He respected my service to him and his father.’

‘And you left
me
all alone. You had sworn yourself to me, and when you’d had your fun, you sought other women. You went off with the King’s host and abandoned me. You didn’t care what happened, did you?’

‘I knew you’d be all right,’ he said, the twisted grin returning to his face as he sat back and studied her. ‘And you were, weren’t you?’

‘I was fortunate to marry a good, decent man,’ she said.
‘Henry …’ Her eyes filled with tears, and a lump appeared in her throat. A moment passed before she could continue in a low hiss, ‘And you killed him! You murdered my man, just so that you could try to claim my body again!’

‘I love you, Mab,’ he said, but then something glittered in his eyes that was nothing like love. ‘But don’t accuse me of things like murder in a public room. I won’t permit it, woman.’

‘You wanted me back, didn’t you? Thought I’d be a comfort to you in your old age.’

‘I’d
like
to be comforted by you,’ he grinned.

That was what made her stand and leave. It was that expression of his, as though nothing bad had happened. He didn’t – he
couldn’t
– understand her devastation. There was nothing malicious about it, it was just that he had no comprehension as to how others might feel.

Walking along the High Street afterwards, Mabilla had a sudden, terrible thought. She had to stop and grip an upright pole, panting as though she had run a great marathon.
Will hadn’t denied killing her man
. He had no sense of empathy with her, because to his mind, Henry was merely a body which had ceased breathing. To him, that was all other people were: animals that walked and talked. Equals or targets. There was nothing else in his simple world.

It was appalling. She was as sure as she could be that William
had
killed her man – and she wanted to denounce him, but daren’t. William had no feeling for others. He had killed her man, presumably hoping to win her back, but he would have no compunction in killing her or Julia, were he to view them as a possible threat.

And now she had accused him, that was exactly how he viewed her: as a threat.

Joel stood before his window and gazed out into the street.

Maud was out again, seeking for sweetmeats and other morsels to tempt his appetite. He could have told her not to bother, for there was nothing which could calm his spirit at the moment, but having her out of the house meant he could drop the mask for a while – the mask of a man who was in control and ready for anything. He was Joel the Joiner, in God’s name: Joel Lytell – a man of substance. Yet Maud could sense that he was worried and upset. Christ’s Cods, it’d take something dramatic to make him lose his love of wine and good foods, but since he’d heard of Henry’s murder, he’d had no appetite at all.

That ungodly bastard William! The murder had all his marks on it. Killing Henry in the Charnel where they had murdered the Chaunter just when Henry was going to confess his part in it … William couldn’t bear the thought that his crimes might be uncovered at long last. He was evil.

It was all because of that damned night so long ago, just as Henry had said. Forty years ago now. Joel had thought that the matter was all done and dusted. When they hanged the wrong men, it was plain as the nose on the hangman’s ugly face that the affair was over. The men in the Bishop’s gaol languished there for a while, but not overlong. And by the Fall of Acre, everyone had more important things to worry about. The Cathedral didn’t want to rake up old enmities when they had the news of Moors attacking and capturing the Holy Land. As though that weren’t enough, that appalling famine followed – when so many people died. Joel knew four families which had faded away and expired, the whole lot of them. The Pieman family in particular were sorely missed. Lovely little girls, they were. Four of them. And they all starved to death because Hal Pieman hadn’t any savings to rub together. The cost of flour and grain rose so sharply, Pieman was unable to buy the
ingredients to make his pies, and his poor young family suffered. In the end he hanged himself. He was discovered the next morning by his apprentice. His children and wife were all dead by then. Someone reckoned that almost half the population of Exeter died.

No, so many lives had been lost, so much water had passed down the Exe, there was no reason to suspect that some silly arse might refresh people’s memories about those far-off times. Yet someone had. And now, Joel felt doubly threatened. There was the story about his part in the killings, and the fact of Henry’s death; if the matter of the broken saddle were to come to court now, it might well be against him that the German directed his ire. After all, it was the frame that broke. Joel’s frame.

‘Master?’

Joel didn’t hear the first calls. He was still standing before his window, unaware of the breeze that blew in and ruffled the tapestries and hangings. Such rustling and whispering of material was a constant feature of life in a pleasant little hall like this, just as the whistling and chattering of birds and other wild creatures was in a forest. Thus it was that when Vince spoke his name again, he was startled, and span on his heel, eyes wide with alarm. He was off-balance, and had to grab at a curtain to save his fall, and as soon as he had regained his posture, he bellowed at his apprentice.

‘
Don’t you ever dare to creep up on me like that again, you little shite
! Sweet Christ, it’s enough to give a man a heart-attack! You prickle! What did you think you were doing?’

‘I wanted to ask if I should make a start on that new saddle for Master Ralph, sir?’

‘When I want you to do something, I’ll tell you. Get out of my sight! Just go and clear up the workshop. I’ll bet you’ve left
it in a sodding mess again, haven’t you? Go and clean it all, and I’ll come and inspect it. You leave the bloody saddle to me!’

‘I was only trying—’

‘Shut up! By God’s Honour, one more word out of you, and I swear I’ll take a strap to your arse! I’ve never done it before, but so help me, I could beat you to death just now and not give a damn! I’ll bet it was you who used green wood to make the frame for Henry, wasn’t it? I ought to kick your backside all the way around the outer walls of the city for that, you cretin! Go on, get out!’

Vince scampered off as quickly as he could until he reached the relative seclusion of the workroom, and only then did he turn and stare back the way he had come in bafflement.

Joel had never beaten him, nor even threatened to. And as for the green wood used in the frame – well, Vince wouldn’t have used that if Joel himself hadn’t told him to.

Henry was lucky: he could buy in a saddle frame from Joel quite cheaply, add some leather to it, fit it out with the choicest decorations, carve and print and paint the leatherwork, and make a vast profit when he sold it. For Joel, though, there wasn’t enough money per frame. He couldn’t live on that. So instead, he had taken to making cheap frames to sell to some of the other saddlers, the men who were closer to the thin line between legality and illegality. He had Vince manufacture many cheap frames for them.

‘Oh, no!’

He couldn’t have made a mistake and sold a green wood frame to Henry, could he? The lad winced at the thought. Christ in heaven, if he’d done that, and his saddle frame had broken, he wouldn’t be surprised if his apprenticeship was about to come to a sudden end.

For the Dean, it was a welcome relief to see the tall, dark-haired knight in his Close. He hurried over to Baldwin’s side. ‘Sir Baldwin, I am so glad to – ah – see you again. It has been – um – far too long. Yes, far too long. Now, may I offer you some hospitality? A little of my – ah – store of wine, some bread and cheese?’

‘Dean, that would be most welcome,’ Baldwin said, and the two fell into step as they crossed the Close towards the Dean’s residence. ‘Where is the body? May I see it?’

‘It’s in the chapel where it was found. Poor soul. I think it is too late to go and see him now, surely,’ the Dean said, glancing up at the sky. ‘Come and eat and we can discuss what we should do.’

‘He was murdered in a chapel?’ Baldwin exclaimed.

‘Yes. Whoever killed him committed a dreadful act, polluting a holy chapel like that. It shall have to be reconsecrated.’

‘Can you tell me what has happened?’

‘Hmm. Let us wait until we reach my house. All I need tell you is that the body was found in the Charnel Chapel. I have left it there until the Coroner may come to view it. There are guards about the body, of course.’

‘So you will not contest the right of the Coroner to view?’ Baldwin asked innocently.

The Dean gave him a mild smile which didn’t fool Baldwin for a moment. The knight was quite certain that the Dean had one of the brightest minds in the whole Chapter. Whereas other canons tended to be entirely devoted to their studies, their praying, or their bellies, Dean Alfred was a different man. Used to power, he knew that the most effective means of getting things done as he wished was by ensuring that there were as few interruptions as possible; that meant removing all potential
causes of dispute with the city. He was above all a devious, intelligent politician.

‘I didn’t think that the last Coroner would choose to make an enemy of me, and yet he was strangely – ah – determined to impose his will upon me.’

‘He was a good man,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘He’ll be missed.’

‘Aye. I feel you are right. His widow has left the city – did you hear? No? She didn’t come from here originally, and she has gone to Sidmouth, where her brother lives.’

‘Simon too lives on the coast now,’ Baldwin said.

‘Really? And what does he do there?’

They had reached the Dean’s house, and now the Dean stood aside to permit Baldwin to enter.

‘He is the representative of the Abbot at Dartmouth. It is a terrible job, from what he has told me. He dreaded being sent there in the first place, because he was so comfortable with the moors and the ways of the mad devils who live up there, the tinners. I had always thought him so sensible a fellow, too. Yet when he was told that the Abbot would prefer him to go to Dartmouth, I don’t think Simon realised just how confused and difficult the new task would be.’

‘Is it so – ah – terrible?’

Baldwin threw him a sideways look. ‘The traitor.’

‘Oh!’

There was no need to say more. As both knew, no one could afford to pass comment on the recent events in London. The King’s spies might be listening. Yet the whole country knew that the King’s household was living in fear. The Lord Marcher, Roger Mortimer, who had been captured as a traitor for raising arms against Edward after a glittering career in his service, had been thrown into a cell in the Tower of London. Astonishingly, as soon as the sentence of death which
was to have been passed on him became known, he was rescued.

Baldwin had no idea how he could have made his escape, but escape he had, and the King’s men were panicked. Messengers were sent to all corners of the realm from Kirkham, where the King was staying when he heard the news. A small host rode to the ports with Ireland, where Mortimer had allies, while all other ports were instructed to check all men trying to leave the shores. That was the first set of instructions. More recently, Baldwin had heard that there were clear signs that the man had escaped and fled the kingdom, passing into France or some similar land.

This could have been cause for celebration in the King’s household, were it not for the fact that Mortimer was reckoned the King’s own best General. If Mortimer could summon a force about his banner, thousands of Englishmen would probably rally to his cry. And there were many disaffected men in Europe waiting for just such a call. Men who had been deprived of their livelihood by the King – or, rather, as Baldwin knew, by his friends, the Despensers.