The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) (31 page)

Ralph was about to respond when a young lad appeared round the corner of the house and set off towards them at a trot. ‘You!
Boy! Where are you going at this time of night?’

‘That’s my business!’

Sir Peregrine chuckled unpleasantly. ‘I am the King’s Coroner, boy, and I’ll have you whipped if you like,’ he said, moving
forward, his sword’s point ready.

Ralph was worried about the Coroner. He appeared to be losing control of his emotions. His eyes were wild and staring, his
complexion strange and pale. He looked like a man who was ready to throw himself to his own doom. All that he valued and appreciated
was torn apart already. He had nothing to live for.

To Ralph’s eye the lad looked rebellious, but Sir Peregrine and he were blocking the path. The boy clearly did not realize
his danger, because he looked at Sir Peregrine and spat at his boots, shrugging with bad grace. ‘So thrash me.’

Sir Peregrine growled, a low, feral sound that made Ralph’s hackles rise. He moved forward slowly as though he was going to
tear the lad apart with his bare hands, but before he could grab him, Ralph took the lad’s arm. He pinched the hair at his
temple and twisted it, lifting it high so the boy had to stand on tiptoes, squealing with the pain.

‘Piss on us, laddie, and I’ll pull your hair out by the sodding roots,’ Ralph hissed malevolently, peering into his eyes.
‘One handful at a time. You understand me? I’ll give you anguish the like of which you’ve never dreamed! Tell us where you’re
going and why!’

‘It’s Jordan. He told me to go to his daughter and bring her to him in the morning!’ the boy said hurriedly, eyes squeezed
tight with the pain.

‘Where is he now?’

‘In Betsy’s room … out the back. The bathing room.’

‘Good. Go!’

Ralph discarded the lad and set his shoulders resolutely. ‘Let’s fetch him out.’

Sir Peregrine followed him round the side of the brothel, and in through a gate in the low wall. Ralph walked among the flower
beds and vegetables, knowing the way perfectly, and then stepped silently along the path that led from the cross passage to
the lean-to sheds. At one door, he stopped, and was about to motion Sir Peregrine forward when it suddenly opened. Betsy was
there in the doorway, and seeing the man standing there she dropped her jug and screamed.

Ralph reached in and grabbed her arm, yanking her forward,
out of the room, then tripped and fell over her. Sir Peregrine rushed at the door and entered, only to be struck by a heavy
pot as he crossed the threshold. He fell to his knees, but kept his grip on his sword.

Seeing him fall, Ralph was taken with a maddened rage. He leaped up and sprang into the room. Jordan had his pot raised to
hit Sir Peregrine again when Ralph darted in. He pushed Jordan in the face, unsettling him, so that he fell back on his rump,
and then Ralph rushed away before he could be hit. The pot was hurled at him, and he ducked just in time; it clipped his shoulder
and spun away to the wall where it smashed to pieces.

Jordan clambered to his feet and ran to the table where his knife lay. Ralph saw in a flash that Jordan must reach it before
he could, and he saw that Sir Peregrine was befuddled. There was no time for anything else; Ralph reached behind him. He found
something, another heavy pot, and hurled it just as Jordan took hold of the knife. The pot missed his head, but it smashed
on the table, and the liquid inside burst out, drenching his breast and belly, and filling the room with the smell of lye.

Smiling, Jordan waved the knife at him. ‘You thought to brain me, little leech? I told you yesterday, didn’t I? Don’t piss
with men who’re stronger and richer than you. I could break you in two right now, right here, with my bare hands. You’re lucky
that I have a knife and little time! It means I’ll have to be faster than I’d have liked!’

He approached Ralph, baring his teeth with the sudden throbbing agony as the caustic lye solution burned at his belly wound.
‘Christ’s ballocks, that hurt, you bastard!’ he spat. ‘Jesus, that hurt! I’m going to cut out your heart for that!’

Ralph slipped on the damp floor, scrabbling for anything that could be hurled or used to stab, blind, maim, but all he could
find were more jugs. He threw the first, and Jordan
ducked away without pausing in his advance. Then Ralph had an idea. He threw the liquid from the second, seeing it soak into
Jordan’s shirt, then hurled the jug with all his might. It missed again as Jordan moved away from it, and then Ralph threw
the last, and succeeded.

The liquid went all over Jordan’s face and he blinked, then winced. Wiping at his eyes with a wetted hand, he rubbed the strong
solution into them, and while he stood, screaming with the burning, Ralph rushed past him, snatched up Sir Peregrine’s sword,
and ran it through Jordan’s back.

He shrieked with rage and agony, and while still spitted on the blade, tried to spin on his heel to face Ralph. His momentum
forced the blade to carve his flesh, opening a massive gash. He screamed in maddened ferocity, and spun again, wrenching the
sword from Ralph’s grasp, half falling against the table, his eyes fixed balefully on Ralph’s. Coughing, he brought up blood,
black in the darkness, and Ralph saw how he looked at his hand when he had wiped it away. It looked like the devil’s vomit.
Jordan’s eyes were emptying in that strange way that Ralph had seen before, as passion and anger and feeling all leached away
with his blood, and then he seemed to pull himself together.

With a last roar of defiance, he launched himself at Ralph again, and Ralph could not move aside in time. The dying felon
caught his sleeve and pulled Ralph towards him, his teeth bared insanely.

And then Betsy appeared. She had tears streaming down her face, and in her hand was Jordan’s own knife. As Jordan pulled Ralph
to him, she slipped the knife round his throat, and suddenly Ralph had the impression that Jordan had a second mouth, and
then the world went dark and red.

It was late the next morning when Baldwin and Simon met the Coroner at the house of the Dean, who welcomed them with many
expressions of delight.

‘My dear, ah, Sir Baldwin, I could not have dreamed of such a marvellous outcome to my request for your help. It has been
magnificent to see how you have so speedily arranged, um, matters for us. It has …’

Baldwin tried to stem the flow, but it was some little while, and a large goblet of wine each, before he succeeded. All the
while Baldwin was aware of the pale, fretful man beside him.

Coroner Peregrine had lost his woman again. This was the third woman he had desired, and the third he would see buried. The
calmness of his expression was belied by the anguish displayed by his fingers. The nails picked at each other and at the hem
of his tunic, and while he was himself quiet and restrained, his foot’s rapid tapping on the floor told of his torment.

‘Yes,’ the Dean continued delightedly. ‘The Prior has himself come to apologize for the – um – error and has offered a significant
amount of money in compensation for the insult offered to our privileges.’ He shot a look at Baldwin. ‘It seems it was not
only Gervase and Peter de la Fosse who were, ah, taken in by a plausible felon.’

‘Many people were taken in by him,’ Baldwin said. ‘I think that I was myself for some time.’

‘And I,’ Sir Peregrine said heavily. ‘I would not have believed he could have killed Daniel. He was entirely credible, and
so were the men who vouched for him at the inquest. Would that they were not so convincing. I might have—’ His mouth snapped
shut.

Baldwin rose and walked to the bottler who stood at the sideboard. He took the bottler’s jug and went to Sir Peregrine, pouring
for him without comment. He waited until Sir Peregrine had finished his cup, then refilled it.

‘My Lord Dean,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘The woman Juliana, I would like to see her buried in the cemetery with full honours.’

‘Of course.’

‘And I,’ said Sir Peregrine, ‘have much to do. I must go and … and …’

‘Rest,’ Baldwin said. ‘You have done much, and will do more, but for a little while, you need Ralph’s help.’

‘Is all explained now? The death of that madman must explain almost all,’ the Dean said, gazing at the Coroner with a sympathetic
expression. He had no idea of Sir Peregrine’s loss, but he could see the man’s distress. No one could miss that.

‘Jordan hated Daniel,’ Baldwin said. ‘He was seeking to destroy Daniel because the sergeant had it as his prime goal to ruin
Jordan. Daniel suspected that Jordan was responsible for the thefts from the ships and the reselling of the cargoes to the
cathedral, and being a religious man he thought it a disgrace. So he set about finding a means of proving Jordan guilty.’

‘He never struck me as religious,’ the Dean said. ‘A more secular fellow I’d find it hard to imagine.’

‘And yet he almost killed Henry when he found two men
burying a suicide in what he thought was holy ground,’ Baldwin pointed out.

‘True enough.’

‘Jordan had no feeling for the Church, though. He set about ensuring that the cathedral had other matters to distract them
by arranging for Guibert and Peter to cause discord. And by using Gervase, that was easy. He persuaded Guibert that the people
here were less than honourable, giving the Prior a means of embarrassing the chapter, and then arranged that the theft of
the body could be acted out. In that way he distracted you, Dean, and sowed more disharmony. He calculated that all would
be so bound up in sorting out that dispute that no one would care about a few stolen goods. But Daniel was a thorough man,
and determined. Even when Jordan threatened to kill Daniel and his whole family, Daniel continued to the best of his ability.’

‘After he died, Jordan killed the whore’s pander, too?’

‘No, Dean. I think that Mick died before Daniel, probably. That was unrelated, from the sound of things. Mick and Anne were
going to leave the city, and Jordan had no desire to see them do that. If they could escape him, other girls in his brothel
could try the same thing, leaving him for a new life. He left them as a clear signal to any others that he would not tolerate
disloyalty.’

‘Why go back to Daniel’s house last night?’ the Dean asked, frowning.

‘Because he realized that he couldn’t survive any longer in the city.’ Baldwin sighed. ‘Perhaps he sought still to avenge
himself on Daniel’s family for the harm wrought upon him. He saw Daniel as the source of his downfall. Perhaps he was right,
too. And, terribly, he managed to kill another while he was there.’

‘So it was him killed Daniel?’

Simon shook his head. ‘Reginald told us that he was outside the house when he was almost knocked down by Estmund running out.
I think that it’s clear enough no one else was there. Juliana only mentioned one man struggling with her husband. So I think
Estmund killed Daniel in fear, thinking he’d be hurt, and fled the place. That was why he ran from the city and hid for so
long, poor devil.’

Sir Peregrine slowly let his head fall forward. He only wished all this would stop. There was a wrenching chasm in his heart,
and he had no cure for it. All he had wanted was a wife and the chance to have children, but every woman he loved died. Juliana
was gone, just as his woman in Tiverton had died, just as his first love had died in Barnstaple. There was no hope. He was
marked.

But he had responsibilities. He had no wife, but he had two children to look after and protect.

Mazeline watched as her daughter walked into the hall with her cousin. Jane looked up at her mother’s face when she realized
that her father wasn’t in the room too. ‘Where’s Daddy?’

‘He’s not coming back,’ Mazeline said. She eyed her daughter with mingled trepidation and uncertainty. She didn’t know how
to deal with Jane any more. It was so long since they had been truly close: Jordan had stolen her away when she was so young
that Mazeline had no idea how to win back her affection.

‘He wouldn’t leave me.’

‘He cannot come back, Jane. You and I are all that are left now,’ Mazeline said, thinking of Reg’s face. He had looked despairing
when she took her leave this morning. His once cheerful face was twisted with loneliness and loss. Mazeline too felt sad to
think that they must part, but there was no other
way. Reg had to try to win back his wife, and Mazeline had to bring up her daughter safely, with the help and support of her
cousins.

‘He wouldn’t leave me … you forced him away, didn’t you? You’ve got rid of him! I hate you! I hate you!’

Mazeline felt the tears stinging her eyes again, and looked at her cousin with despair, begging for guidance.

Her cousin returned her look with a soft sympathy, and then faced Jane. She slapped the child hard on the cheek. ‘Maid! This
is your mother, and you will learn respect for her. Your father’s dead, rot his black soul, and your mother’s the only person
to look after you now. So be grateful. And never shout at her again, or you’ll feel my hand again.’

Jane wept while Mazeline waited, wondering what she should do, and then Jane hurtled across the floor to her, hiding her face
in her breast, and Mazeline felt as though the sun had suddenly burst through the clouds.

Baldwin stood at Carfoix with an expression of intent concentration darkening his face, and then turned west.

‘Baldwin, our inn is that way,’ Simon pointed out.

‘I am glad,’ Baldwin said, ignoring his words, ‘that Sir Peregrine is praying there.’

They had left him sitting in his chair. He had said that he needed to go and speak to the children, but Baldwin shook his
head and beckoned the Dean, saying that first Sir Peregrine should pray for the soul of the woman who had died. At last the
Dean appeared to realize how distraught the Coroner truly was, and went to his side to pray with him as Baldwin and Simon
left the room.

‘You know, I still find it hard to believe that Estmund could have killed anyone,’ Simon said after a few moments.

‘So do I,’ Baldwin said. They were walking down the road past the fleshfold, and when they reached the alleyway, he stood
there a long time staring in towards Daniel’s house.

‘Agnes is there with the children now, isn’t she?’ Simon said after a few moments.

‘Yes.’

‘You have had some thoughts about this, haven’t you?’

‘I do not think Estmund was a murderer. But Reginald did not enter and kill the man, for Juliana would have said. She was
unwilling always to accuse anyone of being there, did you notice? She never actually said who she saw in there.’

‘So?’

‘She knew of Estmund’s sadness and his loss. All the women did. But Daniel feared an agent of Jordan’s, so he went about armed,
just in case.’

‘Yes.’

‘So suppose it was Estmund. If he had killed her husband, don’t you think Juliana would have told us, even if she felt compassion
for his lost family? It is one thing to feel such compassion, another surely to protect the killer of a loved one.’

‘Then who?’

‘I do not think it was Reg. He is no murderer in my opinion, and if it were him, surely again Juliana would have broken her
mind searching for him if she didn’t recognize him on the spot. But she accused no one.’

Simon forbore to repeat himself. He waited.

It was not a long time in coming.

‘It was that which made me wonder whether she was the murderer herself. But there was no sign of hatred about her. She loved
her man, I think. No, she was protecting someone else. Someone else whom she loved. Someone who feared a night-time visitor
as much as she and her husband.’

‘Who?’

‘A little girl could be petrified with fear during the night, Simon. She could sleep dreaming of terrible creatures, and if
she were to hear her parents discussing a man who wanted to murder them all in their sleep, might she not store a knife away
near her bed? And if she saw a man grappling with her father, trying to kill him, might she not try to save him, whether with
her own knife, or her father’s or Est’s, if they dropped one? And if only nine years old, might her blow not aim awry? And
afterwards, would she not be tearful and horrified at her hideous accident? And would her mother not do everything in her
power to conceal her mistake and try to help her forget it herself? She may have lost a husband, but her first thoughts would
be for her child, too.’

‘And if a man like Est was to see her strike, and realized what she’d done, he would blame himself, more than likely, and
run away, too,’ Simon finished.

‘But I tell you this, Simon,’ Baldwin said, turning and marching back the way they had come. ‘I will do and say nothing. The
child needs sympathy and love, not accusations. Let us leave her in peace. Such peace as she can know, anyway.’

Simon rode with Baldwin and Jeanne back to their house, where he would stop with them for a short while before he continued
homewards. Baldwin had sent Edgar on ahead, against the servant’s wishes, to prepare the way for them, and they hoped that
Furnshill would be ready for them by the time they reached it.

Jeanne had forgiven her husband for the delay. As they continued on their way homewards and the road became more familiar,
their ride grew more and more easy. Whereas earlier Jeanne had been in an irritable mood, tired and fretting at any
delays, soon she was giggling at Simon and Baldwin’s chattering. By the time they turned right up the long, swooping path
that led to the front door of the hall, Jeanne was almost back to her normal self.

The real thaw happened almost as soon as Richalda saw her parents. Baldwin dropped from his horse to help Jeanne dismount
as they reached the door of Furnshill, and before Jeanne’s feet had touched the ground Richalda was toddling unsteadily over
the damp grass with her arms outstretched.

Jeanne reached for her with tears in her eyes, and as soon as the little girl had received a hug, she left Jeanne and tottered
toward her father. The little girl gripped his knees and held him. Simon dropped from his horse and glanced at them. He saw
Baldwin with suspiciously moist eyes, Richalda still holding to his legs like a limpet, and then he saw Jeanne. She reached
forward to take Baldwin’s hand with a smile, and then Baldwin pulled her to him and they embraced, right there, before the
front door of his hall.

Simon looked at the doorway and saw Edgar standing and kissing his own wife, Crissie. Edgar slowly pushed the door closed,
and Simon grinned to himself as he led the horses round to the side where the stables lay.

It seemed a good idea to leave Baldwin and Jeanne alone with their daughter, if only for a short while.

Betsy shivered and pulled on a thick woollen cloak before stepping outside to fetch some water. The yard out here was dangerous
now, with thick ice where the last day’s rain had pooled.

The well was beyond the line of lean-tos, and she stepped carefully to it, carrying her jug cautiously. Her breath formed
feathers on the freezing air, and she could feel the frost on her
cheeks and nose. It felt as though ice was forming in her nostrils as she reached the well and started to pull on the rope
to heave up the bucket.

‘Morning, wench!’

‘Sweet Mother of God!’ she yelped, and dropped the bucket. It rattled down the narrow shaft, striking sparks from the stone
walls, before slapping back into the water far below. ‘Physician, do you have no feeling for a woman’s fear? Why do you insist
on making my heart leap from my throat?’

‘Woman, don’t be so mean-minded!’ he chuckled. ‘Look, I have a present for you.’

Her face lost all emotion. In his hand there was a parcel of linen bound with leather thongs, and she felt herself stiffen
as though it could be a weapon. There was silence for a long moment, and then she reached out and took it. Pulling aside one
corner, she saw that inside was a bolt of thick velvet, a glorious, vibrant emerald green that matched her eyes.

‘It is lovely,’ she said.

‘Do you want to ask me inside for some warmed wine, then?’ he asked hopefully, and when he saw her tears, he smiled and took
her hand, leading her inside to the warmth.