The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18) (47 page)

In the end his patience ran out. He bellowed to the two other mounted men to come with him, ordered the others to go home – since they would scarcely be necessary anyway, to catch only one man – and spurred his mount.

The beast was one of the Dean’s own rounseys, and had muscles like corded rope. As soon as Simon gave him his head, he felt a charge of energy explode in the animal’s shoulders and haunches, and then he was hurtling onwards, the air suddenly cool on his cheeks, the wind tugging and pulling at his clothing, his sword’s sheath banging rhythmically at his
side. There was little in the way of good road here, and although the sun had been out all day, the passage was rutted and muddy from the wheels of many carts bringing food and goods to the markets that made Exeter so wealthy. He thundered on, feeling the exhilaration that a powerful horse can give a rider when it obeys his commands.

He rode on with a keen delight. This was how he was born to live: riding a good animal quickly in pursuit. And today he had a more pressing desire than normal to track down the runaway. He must capture and punish the man who had tried to kill Baldwin.

The route grew darker as they came across a wood and sheltering trees, and there were twists and turns in the path, growing rapidly muddier and more filthy, until they had covered perhaps a mile and a half, and then at last Simon saw Matthew.

The Vicar was seated at the side of the road, his face hidden in his hands, back against a great beech tree’s trunk. Simon allowed his mount to slow, reining in gently, and the rounsey gradually took notice, if reluctantly. When he was level with the man, Simon drew his sword and pointed it. ‘You, Matthew, I accuse you of murder, and I will have you return to Exeter to answer to the judges.’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ Matthew said brokenly. ‘It was an accident.’

Simon felt his anger bubble, and he could easily have dropped from the horse and beaten the feeble cur. ‘I suppose the bow leaped into your hands when you saw Baldwin there, did it? And the arrow flew and pierced his breast all on its own, eh? You are evil, man. Scum!’

‘I believe him,’ said Wymond, and Simon turned to see the grim-faced old tanner behind him at the other side of the road.

‘Who are you?’

‘Wymond. I live on Exe Island – I have a tannery there. This man, I thought, was one of those responsible for the murder of my brother when he tried to save his master, Chaunter Walter, many years ago. You’ve heard all about this, aye? Well, my brother Vincent was there. He called to the Chaunter to warn him, but a fellow cut him down, and over the years people in the Cathedral have tried to say that my Vince was as guilty as the others, that he was a traitor, involved in the attack, but he never was! It was those who
were
guilty, who passed that story about.’

‘What’s that got to do with this fellow?’ Simon asked, indicating Matthew.

‘He was the man who really betrayed his master, so he is one of those who put part of the blame on my brother and despoiled Vince’s good name. I followed him here today to kill him in revenge.’

‘But he’s not dead.’ Simon knew it was the right of any man to cut down an outlaw who ran and refused to stop.

‘True. Because when I saw what manner of a man he was, it didn’t seem to merit the use of force against him. Had he been a little more manly, I’d have killed him and not minded the danger of the law, but he looked so pathetic, I didn’t want to waste a good arrow.’

Simon muttered, ‘I wish he’d felt the same when he tried to kill my friend, Sir Baldwin.’

When Stephen had left the room, Jeanne sat at Baldwin’s side again. She broke up the bread into pieces and when she saw that Baldwin was waking again, she soaked a little of the crust in wine and passed it to him. He sucked it eagerly and gave her a smile. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead, and she dabbed at it with a spare piece of linen, smiling back at him as comfortingly as she could, and that was how she remained while he was awake. As soon as his eyes were closed and his grip loosened on her hand, she sat more upright, feeling the muscles in her back relax.

‘My Lady? Are you all right? If you want to go and take a walk about the Close, I shall remain here with Sir Baldwin,’ Edgar said. His tone was kindly, his manner respectful, but as compassionate as a brother.

She threw him a grateful look, but then her eyes went back to her husband’s body. There was more sweat breaking out on his face. ‘Do you think he’ll survive, Edgar?’

He sniffed. ‘I reckon he’ll do. He’s been wounded before, and I’ve seen worse than that pinprick. Yes, he’ll live.’

Most servants would have been cautious in their responses to their mistresses, but Edgar was being honest.

He continued, ‘I’ve seen men die from serious wounds about that part of the body, but usually there’s more blood, either seeping from the wound or coming from the mouth and nose.
He looks well enough. So long as the pus runs and cleans him inside, he’ll be fine.’

‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And that physician hasn’t been here yet. Where is he?’

‘We should send a messenger for him, perhaps?’

She nodded and glanced at her sleeping husband. He looked so vulnerable, so childlike. She said softly, ‘In a while, perhaps. Not quite yet.’

It was hard. Daniel had stayed up late with her, trying to comfort her, but although she wanted the solace of his young arms about her, there was nothing that he could do or say which would ease her pain.

Her husband’s death had left a hole in Sara’s life that felt unfillable. Her man had taken her, a raw, foolish peasant girl, and seen something in her which no one else had. By marrying her, Saul had given Sara a very different life from the one she could have anticipated, and he had also given her himself. For that she would always honour him and his memory. Now, although others might say that they understood her feelings, they couldn’t. Her life had ended that day when Thomas told her of her man’s death.

The second loss was appalling, too: to lose a child was to lose a part of yourself. She had been one with this little boy for nine months, nurturing him within her womb. No man could understand how that loss must stupefy and devastate a woman. She had grown used to the idea that there would only be the three of them from the moment of Saul’s death, and then God had taken her darling Elias too. It was too cruel! Then, for consolation, He gave her a man to soften the blow and save her from madness: Thomas. The man who had killed her husband.

How God could treat her so was a mystery. She must have sinned in her past … but for the life of her she didn’t remember it. She had only ever tried to praise Him as the priests told her she must.

Thomas had murdered her Saul, and then arrived at her door to tell her; maybe it gave him some kind of gratification to see her pain. He was there again when she fell with Elias at the Priory’s gate, as though God was sending him as a messenger of doom to oversee every misfortune of her life. Overtly a comforter, in fact he was only ever there to bring still more grief to her life. And then he had become a focus for her affection. She had learned that he was always about when she needed aid, and he had never sought to dissuade her from becoming attached to him, although he should have been consumed with guilt. He was the engineer of her misery. She must hate him!

Yes. She must hate him, just as surely as Daniel did. Her son was repelled by him, and even this morning as the first light had illuminated their room, Daniel had asked if she was also awake.

‘Because when the Dean hears that man’s story, we ought to be there.’

‘I don’t want to see him again,’ she said.

‘Don’t cry, Mummy. Don’t! We’ll be all right. I’ll get work and feed you. We’ll be all right.’

‘I’m fine,’ she lied, wiping her eyes. ‘I just don’t want to think about him, that’s all.’

‘Well, I want to see him punished. I have to know that my father was avenged. Do you think the Dean will hang him for robbing us?’

She turned away. ‘He didn’t rob us, Danny. He tried to give us money.’

‘Only because he was guilty! He killed Daddy and wanted us to forgive him.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said, but without conviction. If she were honest with herself, the sight of him in their home had shocked her. She’d thought that he wouldn’t dare come back here again, but he had, to help with a parting gift. That had been kind.

‘I want to go and see him pay,’ Danny said grimly. He rose from their bed and began to pull his shirt on over his head.

It was one of Saul’s, and many sizes too large. Seeing him there – little, thin, preparing for a winter without a father or secure supply of food – Sara could barely keep the tears at bay. The two of them might survive a while, but without a man they would soon know the anguish of hunger gnawing at their bellies as the money ran out.

She gripped him tightly against her bosom, rocking him back and forth as she prayed for help from the God Who had taken so much already, pleading that He wouldn’t take her last son as well.

There was only Danny left for her to lose.

Matthew was weeping much of the way back to the city. His hands were tied with a thong attached to a long rein which Simon had bound to his saddle’s pommel. The other riders were behind them, and the silent, thoughtful tanner marched on Matthew’s right, his bow unstrung in his hands.

The weeping and wailing eventually got to Simon. ‘Shut up that noise, Vicar!’

‘One error, and my life has been ruined!’

‘The error was your betrayal of your master, so don’t expect sympathy from me!’ Simon grated. ‘You committed treason and saw to your master’s murder.’

‘It was for the good of Exeter and the Cathedral, though! I had no choice.’

‘That was why you demanded money of William, was it?’

‘That shit! Damn his heart! He persuaded me into it, and then fled the city himself. Made himself look good by telling the King about the gate, and took the King’s money to go.’

‘Much like you, in fact,’ Simon said. ‘You took all the advancement you could, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. Well, that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t seek advancement.’

‘Oho! No, of course not!’

‘I didn’t! But if a man is offered … I mean, I didn’t try to get new tasks and income, they just came.’

‘Yes,’ Simon scoffed. ‘And none of them because of the respect in which you were held by your peers?’

‘Perhaps,’ Matthew said, and brought a sleeve over his face again. ‘But I could hardly admit what I’d done. Bishop Quivil would have had me thrown into gaol and left there to rot, just like he did with John Pycot. I only ever sought to serve the Cathedral, nothing more.’

‘And committed murder to protect yourself.’

Matthew sobbed again, head fallen forward, shoulders jerking spasmodically. For several paces he couldn’t speak, and Simon was tempted to pull the long leash that bound his hands, but that would only yank the man off his feet and lead to another delay. Simon had no wish to pull him all the way to Exeter, and then present him to the Dean with the skin flayed from elbows and knees. Better to take the journey more slowly. Still, he was losing his patience rapidly, and he was about to ask the fellow to hurry, since Simon wanted to return to Exeter before old age saw off his friend Baldwin rather than the Vicar’s own arrow, when Matthew started to talk again.

‘It was terrible. My guilt is so clear and unequivocal, and I
feel the shame of it every moment of every day. I cannot even confess properly! I tried to. I spoke to Paul at the Charnel, but I couldn’t say the actual words, and when he caught wind of my crime, he said I must speak to one of the Dignitaries, not to him. He meant the Treasurer, of course. Stephen is my master. But how could I tell him, after all he had done for me, thinking that I …’

‘That you were honourable,’ Simon sneered.

‘Not just that. Oh, how could you understand? You’re just a Bailiff. You don’t have the faintest idea what life is like in a cathedral or canonical church.’

Simon was again tempted to pull on the rein, but quashed the urge. ‘You lived a life of falsehood because of the crime of your youth, and you hid that crime for forty years, taking all the advantages you could along the way, until at last you found that someone knew the truth – and then you killed him. Poor Henry knew what you’d done, did he?’

‘No! I had nothing to do with his death, nor that of Nicholas.’

‘Of course not!’ Simon grinned disbelievingly.

‘I didn’t! But to my shame, I did kill the mason.’

‘You say you murdered Saul?’

‘I didn’t
mean
to hurt him. What, do you think you can aim a rock from the top of a wall and hit a man tens of feet below you? Don’t be stupid!’

His sudden vehemence surprised Simon into silence.

‘No, that was an accident. Anyway, I was talking about Stephen, not Henry. He was the last person I could confess to: at first because I thought he believed me to be the embodiment of reliability and honour, and to tell him that I had deceived him would have hurt more than his mere pride, it would have devastated him and left him bereft.’

‘You rate yourself highly, Vicar.’

‘You don’t understand! Stephen is too old to continue for long in his post, he is desperate to retire, and I am the only man who can keep control of the Fabric Rolls and see to it that the Cathedral maintains its progress. We have to make sure that the place survives and that the rebuilding is continued. My God! Do you have even the faintest conception of the amount of work involved in getting this sort of project completed? It is likely to take another fifty years to see it to fruition. That means four generations of canons since the work began. It is not some frivolous, ephemeral undertaking that can be started in a moment and idly set down a short while later. This is a crucial part of God’s work. We have to see it through as best we can, each of us, and if the right man for a specific task is there, he must take up his responsibility. If there were another who could do the job so well as me, I would bow to him, and Stephen could hear my confession today – but there is no one!’